I, monster?
by Onipo
Summary: Duncan hunts an immortal murderer known as 'the slayer', who's next target, unfortunately for Angel, is Angelus. Highlander/Ats/BtVS
1. Prologue, part 1

I, monster  
  
  
  
The light was bright, colourful and warm, making the room look pleasant, almost inviting. At least at first glance, until you saw, or knew in advance, what it contained. What it was used for. Walking in he'd usually take a seat behind the desk in the only chair there. It was expensive, very comfortable, and, despite expert care, carried the signs of a lot of use. Today he altered the routine by walking over to the whiteboard covering most of one wall.  
  
The board contained three groups of photographs and notes along the lower half, and one group of notes in the middle of the upper half; connected with the other three by lines in a variety of colours. Each of the lower groups contained within it the details of the last few hours of the life of a human being. Lives that had been terminated way before their time.  
  
The main group was where he collected the bits and pieces connecting the victims, the crimes and the dumpsites. Notes describing clothes hang side by side with notes detailing similarities between the sites where the girls had been dumped. Descriptions of bruises and crushed bones pointed red arrows to pictures in the other three groups. Basically, anything that would, or even merely could, lead him to his prey was put in the main group.  
  
He focused on the last group to enter the board. He'd begun the hunt after the second victim was found, almost six months ago, and was not pleased when, two months ago; he had to make room for yet another victim.  
  
Looking at the photographs was unsettling, almost uncomfortably so. They weren't supposed to be. He'd done far worse to people in the past, and would do it again shortly, so why did it bother him to watch the leftovers of another monster?  
  
He chuckled. Shook his head softly, almost inaudibly muttering: "Almost three thousand years old, and still you don't know yourself."  
  
The once mortal woman had been young, barely in her teens when her brief existence was ended for the pleasure of another. The reports he'd procured indicated that she'd run away from home to escape the advances of her mother's new husband. She'd been too young, too inexperienced to realise that the nice man meeting her at the bus-station wasn't nice. There was a price attached to his help. She'd been working the street within a week of running away. Her life ended sixty-four days after running from what should have been home. Her body was found three days later by a group of children playing hide and seek. They had nightmares for months about what they found. He had copies of the files their psychologist kept.  
  
He wished that he were more ruthless. It would certainly have made it easier. No meticulous gathering of evidence, slowly erasing any possibility of error. Quieting the voices of doubt, whispering that maybe his next victim was an innocent. Sam fit the profile he'd made, but then again, so did thousands of others.  
  
Last month he'd been merely another possibility. Then the mistakes were spotted, the puzzle-pieces painstakingly gathered began to fit together. He was either the monster Michael was currently tracking, or he knew who it was. Given his solitary life-style, chances were he was it. But he had to be certain. No mistake. Not now, not ever. That mistake would make him as bad as his prey.  
  
"I may be a monster, but at least I do not prey on the helpless." Not much of a comfort, but it kept him from cutting off his own head. The knowledge that, bad as he was, he was not inhuman enough to enjoy the killing of helpless children. Besides, his little hobby made the world a little bit better, did it not?  
  
Maybe there was another explanation for the tire-mark so close to the dumpsite? The string the girls had been bound with. Sam Guilder was not the only one having that type of string in his trunk. A rational explanation for the fibres from his car he'd found on the clothes of the victims?  
  
He'd paid sixteen visits to Sam's house and three to his workplace in the last month. Seven of the house calls Sam knew about, comfortable visits from his new friend who seemed to know him so well, and who knew how to treat bitches who didn't behave; the rest of them he had no clue about, seeing as how he'd either been asleep at the time, or off to work. The visits to his workplace had all been done at night. Cameras had been hidden both in his home and at work. Microphones were recording every sound he made. Evidence kept mounting up, until there were no doubts left.  
  
Tomorrow Sam Guilder was going for a drive downtown. He'd pick up a prostitute. A young woman, preferably still in her teens. He would enjoy her services. Then he'd beat her unconscious; tie her up with pieces of the string he'd brought with him, and finally take pleasure in her pain, suffering and death.  
  
He was an amateur. Clumsy and stupid. Three victims were all it took for Michael to track him down. If Michael allowed tomorrow to go according to Sam's plans, it would increase the likelihood of his arrest within a month almost to certainty. And that was unacceptable. He'd put too much time into the hunt to allow his prey to escape into police custody. And escape it would have been. Painless, and, due to the lack of the death penalty in this state, it would have allowed Sam to go on living for years. Not acceptable at all. And so tomorrow wouldn't go according to Sam's plans. In fact, his last few days on earth would be filled with pain and suffering. And Michael would enjoy every second of those days.  
  
  
  
Author's note and disclaimers: This is the introduction to Michael, a rather nasty immortal. The chance of more chapters will increase with positive reviews, so don't hesitate to let me know if I'm doing this right.  
  
And, just to make it clear, I do not own the concept of immortality or The Game as it appears in my stories. 


	2. Prologue, part 2

The disappearance of Sam Guilder had gone, if not entirely according to plan (things never really did), then at least close enough not to warrant any excessive improvisations. He'd gone in in the middle of the night, cleaned out all the remaining surveillance equipment, and then brought Sam, drugged out of his mind, with him when he left.  
  
When Sam woke, he'd been stripped and secured to a metal table with drains and raised edges, almost like those used in morgues for autopsies. The only differences were the length of the table and the hooks. The table was long enough for a grown man to have his hands raised above his head and still have neither hands nor toes over the edges, and the hooks secured the ropes that held Sam immobile.  
  
The biggest problem Michael had was that Sam was an amateur. That and his sadism had made him cause several mortal wounds on the girls, killing them way before he'd wanted them to die. The problem with that was that Michael was hard pressed to replicate the damage on Sam without killing him before he'd experienced everything the girls had.  
  
Unfortunately for Sam Michael was not an amateur, in fact his expertise in causing pain far exceeded even the most enthusiastic sadist. He had had several of them to practice on in his long life.  
  
When the last of the wounds had been recreated on Sam, Michael smiled softly and let out a relieved sigh. Completing a challenge like this always felt good. Thanks to a lot of hard work and the latest in medical technology, Sam was still alive and conscious, albeit not even slightly sane, not that he'd really been so when he started.  
  
Now all that remained to be done before he could close this case was to kill Sam, get rid of the remains and clean up the room. The first two would pose no trouble, the last required far more work. Modern forensics being what they were, he would have to disinfect everything inside and get rid of everything that had touched Sam. There were times when he really hated progress.  
  
  
  
Author's note: Sorry for this being so short, but with only two reviews, I'm not all that enthusiastic about continuing this little tale. Please, do review if you want any more. 


	3. Chapter One: Eternity for a Game?

Chapter One Eternity for a Game?  
  
When you have an unlimited life expectancy and near-instant healing, the amount of things to worry about decreases sharply. Pain? Torture? Injury? They do not last. Everything ends sooner or later. You just have to take your time. And he had eternity. He'd lost an arm once. It grew back. Of course, those were interesting decades, but he lived through them. He always did. The alternative was not very appealing to him.  
  
Death. If there were anything on the planet that could still frighten him, that was it. The mere idea of permanent death. Not surprising really, when you consider that he were fully expecting to be alive to witness the sun swallow the earth billions of years in the future. He'd long ago accepted immortality as a gift, and so he'd never been able to understand those who were so eager to waste it.  
  
When he spent time to think about it, he assumed that never having had a Teacher indoctrinate him with the Rules of the Game might have been instrumental in him never having participated in it. After the shipwreck that killed him, it'd taken him almost 30 lonely years to get off that bloody island, and by then he was very much aware of what he was. Apart from the neck thing, of course. And the quickening. That had come as a shock.  
  
Knowing that he couldn't die he'd become a mercenary the moment he set foot on solid land again. He'd fought in wars, protected merchants and killed for money for almost a century by the time he met another like him.  
  
Taking his shocked reaction to the buzz as an indication of youth and inexperience, the headhunter had announced that they were both immortal, and that Michael would die permanently when his head came off. Shortly after that he'd died as Michael cut trough his defences like a chainsaw through plywood.  
  
Unfortunately for him, even back then Michael had been inquisitive. When he woke, tied up with the skill of an ex-sailor doing part-time kidnappings, he'd spent several hours whimpering out all that he knew about the Game and the rules it was played by. And then Michael experienced his first Quickening.  
  
It had been a rush, excruciatingly painful and pleasurable beyond words. And when he recovered he wept for the man who had given up eternity for a game. He'd sworn never to Challenge anyone. It was one of the few wows he'd not broken in his life.  
  
He'd never made any wows about not taking heads, though. To keep his little piece of eternity, Michael was willing to take it from others, but only as a last resort. Which meant that his latest challenger had already lived longer than a mortal attacking him would have.  
  
"I don't carry a sword, friend. I'm not participating in your Game." Michael was giving James a last chance to walk away. Any further aggression and he'd have no choice but to take the youngster's head.  
  
"No sword? And here I actually thought I'd have to work for your head. There is no walking away from the Game. There can be only one, and your head is mine!" The last few words came with a grin as James stepped forward, preparing to collect yet another quickening.  
  
He never saw Michael flick his wrists, bringing a dagger into each hand. Daggers that almost immediately left in underhand throws, one aimed at his heart, the other going for his throat. It was a move Michael had spent years perfecting to such a degree that it would take a very lucky, agile and skilled opponent to evade or block one of the daggers, yet alone both. And that opponent would still have to face the silenced .22 Michael had used the distraction to pull and aim at their head.  
  
James suddenly found himself unable to breath, owing to the dagger that had pierced his throat, and his arms were getting so heavy, he couldn't hold on to the sword as he slowly keeled over, staring in disbelief at the man looking at him with something close to sorrow over the barrel of the gun following him down.  
  
Seeing as both daggers hit, Michael didn't pull the trigger, merely tracked James with the gun as he dropped to the ground, checking the positions of the daggers to make certain that James was not merely faking death.  
  
After a few seconds, Michael stepped sideways before approaching to remove the sword from James limp hand. Taking the head here were possible, but that could easily ruin Michael's current identity and leave him with one or more Watchers tracking him, or worse. Looking around for witnesses, he began going through the available options while making sure that James would not be a danger should he wake up.  
  
He pulled out a nylon string with a pair of sliding blocks and quickly looped it around James' throat. The garrotte would strangle James when he awoke, and the blocks, placed over each their main artery, would cut off the blood supply to brain. The effect would be one immortal to awake soundlessly, remaining conscious for seconds, and dying in minutes. Satisfied with the placement of the blocks, Michael clicked the lock on the string, and covered it all with a piece of tape textured to feel like human skin to prevent James from discovering, and maybe removing, the cord that was killing him.  
  
There were no way he could allow James to keep his head. He'd been willing to kill him despite his truthful assurance that he was not carrying a sword. Not exactly honourable, nor allowed by his interpretation of the rules of the Game, and while Michael weren't playing the Game, and didn't see any reason to obey its rules, he really detested players who cheated.  
  
The biggest problem right now was Watchers. James had been a headhunter, and as such the chances of him having a Watcher trailing him were unacceptably high. That meant a witness to this whole episode, possible loss of a long-term identity and the Watchers uncomfortably close. No choice but to find the poor bastard and take care of the problem.  
  
He really hoped it was only one Watcher. Two would mean he'd been spotted earlier. That would lead to identity-loss, running and a lot of work erasing his tracks. Not to mention lots of pain before they died for the two Watchers to find out what they knew. 


	4. Chapter Two: The cowardly sadist

Chapter Two The cowardly sadist  
  
Approaching the bar, Duncan could feel the buzz of another immortal, indicating that the old man had taken off from work a little early, and was probably already nursing a beer inside. Entering, he noticed Methos at his customary table, a pitcher of beer and a glass in front of him. He nodded a greeting before looking around for Joe, spotting him in his usual place, behind the bar.  
  
What was unusual, slightly, was the deep frown on his face.  
  
"Hey Joe. The old man the cause of this one, or is there someone else to blame for the bad mood?"  
  
"Sorry Mac, not the old man this time. I just received some bad news from headquarters. The slayer just killed another Watcher."  
  
"The Slayer? But Joe, why would she do that? I mean, it's not like you Watchers hire vampires and demons, right?"  
  
"Vamp..oh, no. Not The Slayer, Duncan. Just the slayer. An immortal bastard who likes to kill Watchers on sight, and probably civilians as well, at least if the few reports we managed to save were correct."  
  
"He's a bad one," Joe continued; "a real bad one. We don't know much about him, not his real name, or when he first died. We only have guesswork on his age. We know he is old, at least 800, but we have possible sightings and reports matching his m.o. dating as far back as 1500, maybe even 2500 years."  
  
Duncan frowned slightly. "Civilians? And what do you mean about saving reports?"  
  
"The few times we had a Watcher on him, when he discovered it, he tortured the Watcher to death and destroyed all the files he could get access to. Last time he also used the poor guys password to access the database and make a god damned mess out of every bit of info we had on him. End result: no solid data on him."  
  
"We've never been able to track him for long periods. Longest was about six months, and that was almost three hundred years ago. Current policy is to not follow him, he's too dangerous, too sadistic."  
  
"Sounds like a real bastard, all right. But what did you mean with civilians, and what is so special about his m.o. that you can track it that far back?  
  
"Like I said, we've been unable to track him for long, but he was observed twice kidnapping people. Just went into their homes at night, took them to his place, and dumped the bodies a few days later. And you really don't want to know the condition of those bodies. It was even worse than what he did to the Watchers who followed him."  
  
"To make it worse, those two guys were his friends. They trusted him. And he killed them in ways that makes Caspian look like Mother Theresa!"  
  
"As for modus operandi, he is a coward. Never a fair challenge in his life. He tends to use ranged weapons, and then take the head when the immortal challenging him is dead."  
  
By now Duncan's frown had deepened into a scowl, the latest bit of info making him swear out loud.  
  
"God damnit, Joe! Why haven't you told me about this guy before? You know how I feel about cheaters!"  
  
"Look Mac, much as I like you, you are not a Watcher. Hell, I shouldn't even have told you about him now! You can't expect me to give you info on every immortal who's not playing by the rules. That is not what the Watchers are for!"  
  
"Maybe not, but you still should have told me. And I need to know where he is. I'm going after him. There is no way I'm going to let that coward continue to prey on innocent people!" Duncan was almost growling at this point, making it clear that he would not let anything stop him.  
  
Joe sighed. He should have known Duncan would react this way. Why had he not been able to keep his mouth shut? But Duncan was a friend, and he'd wanted to share the pain of the death of a fellow Watcher, and just hadn't thought things through. And now Duncan was about to go off on yet another quest, hunting down an old immortal with no qualms about breaking the rules, or killing people.  
  
Duncan's last outburst had apparently alerted Methos to the possibility of amusement at the bar, and so he'd left the pitcher, but not the glass, and came over to Joe and the grousing Highlander.  
  
"So, let me guess. You've learned of yet another immortal that does not live up to your high and mighty standards, and are now in the process of extorting info from our resident Watcher here as to the unfortunates whereabouts?" Five thousand years worth of observing humanity could give you excellent deductive capabilities. Having very good hearing and lip- reading skills helped a bit, of course.  
  
Duncan shrugged. "This slayer guy is killing mortals, Watchers and cheating in Challenges as well. You seriously think I should let him get away with it?"  
  
Leaning against the bar, Methos took a small sip of beer before answering. "Yes. He is not here, he is not after you or anyone you know. He doesn't even hunt Watchers. There is really no reason for you to waste your time looking for him."  
  
"He just killed a Watcher! He tortures people before killing them, and still you say I should let him go? Is he another 'brother' of yours from your horsemen days?" Duncan was quickly working himself back into a rage, but this time the target seemed to be Methos.  
  
Methos sighed. "No. The slayer is not a friend of mine. But while I was still in the Watchers, I did read up on him. And what I managed to scrounge together does not make you going after him look like a very good idea."  
  
"You think that just because he cheats I won't have a chance, is that it? Need I remind you that I have dealt with cheaters using guns before? All I have to do is get close enough, and that gun of his will be of no use to him."  
  
Author's note: There might be a bit of a delay before I can get the next chapter out, as I'm having some trouble deciding how much Methos should know about Michael; do I let him figure out the whole back story and reasons for killing mortals, or just bits and pieces scrounged up from the Watchers. Ideas, anyone? 


	5. Chapter Three: Thieves and Lawyers

Chapter Three Thieves and lawyers  
  
To leave, or not to leave. That was the question of the day. James did have a Watcher. Big surprise, him being a headhunter and all. On the plus side, he'd had no idea who Michael was. On the negative side, he'd managed to phone in a preliminary report on James' death before Michael got to him. They would be able to figure out what'd happened, no doubt about that.  
  
Four years since he became Michael Sedgewick. He'd planned on using this identity for at least another eight, maybe as many as fourteen years. Leaving it now would be a waste of the nearly eighteen years of careful observation and preparations required to make all the traces of a normal life, including people who'd honestly swear they were childhood friends; fourteen if you counted the four years he'd used it. And on top of that, his next long-term identity was at least four years away from being usable, it only being thirteen at the moment.  
  
Sure, he had short-term id's ready. But none of those were anything more than papers. Not a single one of those would stand up against a halfway decent background search. They'd never been intended for more than escape, anyway.  
  
No, he would have to be Michael Sedgewick for a while longer. Maybe firm up a couple of the short-terms a bit, but he'd have to be careful about that. The Watchers had contacts in all the agencies he could use for that, and they knew what to look for. Not to mention that the agencies in question also would like to have a chat with anyone making fake id's.  
  
However, seeing as the area might very well be swarming with Watchers in a few days time, getting out of Chicago would appear to be a good idea. Unfortunately just leaving was not possible. House, job and friends all tied him to this area. Or, they tied Michael Sedgewick to the area. Just leaving would be a sure fire way of getting the Watchers attention.  
  
Vacation would've solved the problem, if only he hadn't taken those three weeks in Washington two months ago. No vacation time saved up. Of course, there were other ways. Especially if you had a substantial, undeclared fortune scattered around in two dozen nations.  
  
"Look Mike, I'm sorry, but this is a big contract, and that means they get what they want. And since they want my best man, they get you. For two months, or however long it takes you to set up a security system they are satisfied with." Matt looked over the table at Michael and sighed. "Yes, I know you have just finished moving into your new place, but this is a big contract. In fact, it is big enough that if you accept, I can offer you not only a 10% raise, but also a 25% increase on the completion bonus."  
  
"And what am I supposed to do with the two systems I'm supposed to have done by the end of the month? Not to mention the new cameras I'm testing?" Michael carefully hedged. Had to appear reluctant about this, but not so much as to change Matt's mind and have him send Patrick or Jean.  
  
"I'm sure Pat and Jean can finish those two, and I see no reason why you can't continue the camera tests while you set this up." Matt cocked his head to the side and waited for Michael to make up his mind.  
  
"All right. I'll handle this, but I think we'll say 30% on the completion bonus, this being such a large job and all." Sorting out the remaining details were done in minutes, and Matt then wasted no time in sending Michael off to update Patrick and Jean on what he'd managed so far on the jobs they were to split between them.  
  
Matt leaned back in his chair and sighed happily. This new contract could very well be the ticket they needed into a whole new clientele. Wealthy collectors. Extremely wealthy collectors. Famous and extremely wealthy collectors. And three of the best people in the business working for him. Yes, life was good. Of course, now it all hinged on how secure Michael could make that mansion. No need to worry. That place would make the Raven run for the hills when Michael was done with it.  
  
"Look Amanda, all I'm asking is how you managed to bypass the controls for the ComSec pressure plates. And you know I'm not planning on using it for anything immoral or anything."  
  
"I may have turned a new leaf and gone on the straight and narrow, Michael, but what makes you think I'll just hand over the fruits of my labour like that? And besides, what makes you think I even know how to bypass them?"  
  
"I'm asking because I really don't think anyone else than you could have managed the Parker-estate. And I happen to have the blueprints for the new Sarejev IR mini-cameras, complete with installation manuals and the results of my own tests on them."  
  
"Blueprints, manuals and your tests on them? Oh Michael, don't let anyone ever say you don't know the way to a lady's heart." You could practically hear the Cheshire cat grin over the phone.  
  
"And here I was aiming for that devious mind of yours. I must be slipping in my old age. So, do we have a deal?"  
  
"Of course we have a deal, darling. You just send me what you have, and I'll send you everything you need to know about pressure plates."  
  
"Good, but I'd prefer it if you could fax or email it today, or early tomorrow." Michael let his voice take on a slightly worried tone. "I ran into some trouble here, and have to leave town for a couple months, leaving a couple of projects for Pat and Jean to finish. And you know Pat just loves pressure plates."  
  
Amanda smirked. "Oh yeah. I almost thought he'd set up Parker's security, except for it not being nearly enough plates for his tastes." Her voice took on a decidedly sympathetic tone as she replied to the other matter. "You running from headhunters again, Michael? You do know that sooner or later you will end up in a situation you can't run from? For god's sake, why not just start practising with a sword. I can have Duncan train you. You have the reflexes to be great, and then you wouldn't have to do all this running whenever."  
  
Michael interrupted her before she could launch fully into her speech. "Amanda, please. Let me deal with the Game my own way. I can take care of myself. My ways have worked fine for ages, and I have no intention of losing my head in a swordfight."  
  
"Ages he says. As if three hundred is all that much. And my offer stands. Just give the word, and the best swordsman around will train you to competent levels, at least." Her concern touched Michael, but nowhere near enough for him to even consider sparring with another immortal. Too easy for one side to take advantage of the situation, and then take a head.  
  
Realising that she was wasting her time, Amanda moved to finish the conversation. "I'll scan and then email you the diagrams I made when researching the plates, it won't take me more than an hour. And can you let me know where you're running to this time?"  
  
"Thanks. And I had my law firm give my boss a big contract in Los Angeles. He probably thinks it'll give the firm a foot in with the rich and famous. I probably won't stay there long, but if you need to reach me, they can get me a message. Just have them send it to Samuel McDowell."  
  
"Samuel McDowell, right. And the firm is?"  
  
"Wolfram and Hart. Old firm, very competent. I have to go update my colleagues now, so we'll have to talk later. Bye." 


	6. Chapter Four: Misunderstandings and clos...

Chapter Four Misunderstandings and close calls  
  
Two fruitless weeks of patrolling the streets of Chicago were finally starting to take their toll on the Highlander. He hadn't felt a single immortal in the area around were the slayer had last struck, in fact he hadn't felt any until ten minutes ago, and despite what he might think, and occasionally say about her, he definitely didn't suspect Amanda of being the slayer.  
  
"So Michael had me send over these files for his colleague, and I got to thinking that maybe I should come over, maybe invite Patrick for a drink and a chat, see if he's come up with anything new, and maybe take care of that pesky headhunter that's got Michael on the run."  
  
"Headhunter? After Michael? Who is Michael, by the way?" Duncan perked up considerably. He'd finally come to realise that even if he did find an immortal in Chicago, he had no idea of what the slayer looked like, so unless he pulled a gun at their first meeting, he really wouldn't know him from Adam.  
  
"Robert Morrison, remember? 1932? I tried to have you challenge him, show him that running away wouldn't always be an option?"  
  
"Oh yes. That young thief you worried so about because he preferred running to fighting. I was to kill him, and then offer to train him. As I recall, he'd left the country by the time you'd managed to..talk me into it." The last part was said with a wry grin before his expression turned serious again. "So, you're saying he's running from a headhunter here in Chicago?"  
  
"Yes. He called me two weeks ago to ask for some documents for a colleague, that would be Patrick, by the way. Clever boy, but far too fond of pressure plates to ever make a really good system. Anyway, he didn't tell me much, just enough for me to realise he'd run into a headhunter, and he'd arranged for his boss to send him out of town for a few months to get away."  
  
Duncan almost laughed out loud. "Never say running away did no good! Amanda, you're an angel, you know that? I've been looking for the slayer for two weeks with no idea what he looks like, and here you are, telling me Michael ran into him, and managed to get away. Where is he now? I need to talk to him, have him describe the slayer, maybe he even got whatever name he's using now."  
  
"The slayer? Is that all you know about his guy? Come on, even you wouldn't...sorry. You would, wouldn't you? I guess he's pretty bad, and maybe I should leave him alone?" Amanda had no illusions about her swordskills, and if Duncan considered someone bad, she had learned to stay away.  
  
Duncan nodded. "He is bad, but not in the way you're thinking. He's a cheater, uses guns. And he hunts mortals, Watchers and regular people. He tortures them to death. According to Joe he's as bad as, maybe even worse than Caspian."  
  
"You sure? I mean, Caspian was a sadistic, cannibalistic monster of legend. You really think anyone could be worse than him, and still manage to actually function in society? Wouldn't he be spending his time locked up and strapped down like in that movie with the glass wall and him all scary behind bars?"  
  
Duncan frowned as he tried to understand what Amanda was talking about. "Do you mean like Hannibal Lecter in 'Silence of the lambs'? And I don't know. Maybe he's too much of a coward to kill as often and openly as Caspian, but he is still a sadistic murderer, and he needs to be stopped."  
  
"Yes, I understand. But why must it always be you that goes after the bad guys? If he kills Watchers, can't they deal with it, instead of Joe sending you after a gun-wielding lunatic?" Amanda was almost in tears, at the thought of Duncan once again risking his life for others.  
  
Leaning forward to grasp her hand, Duncan smiled gently as he tried to comfort her. "They can't interfere with immortals, Amanda. Not even if the immortal is killing them, their oaths forbid it. So no, Joe isn't sending me after the slayer, in fact both Joe and Methos tried to stop me. But you should know me by know, I can't let a monster like this get away with it. So please, help me? Where can I find Michael?"  
  
"I don't really know. He went to L.A. first, but I don't think he intended to stay there very long. He might have moved on already. But I do know how to get in touch with him. His lawyers, the ones he used to set up the escape, they know how to contact him."  
  
"He takes running seriously, I see. They'll probably have a list of people allowed to get in touch with him, and since I'm not on it, I'm going to need you to make the call."  
  
Amanda smiled softly, while blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. "Using your brains at last, darling. But it won't be as easy as that. I'll have to show up in person, to make sure I match the description he's left with them. Which means that we are going to L.A." 


	7. Chapter Five: Bored in LA

Chapter Five Bored in L.A.  
  
Being on the run always brings problems. Some, in fact maybe even most of them, can be anticipated, prepared for and thus cease to be problems. If you are experienced at running, and are running by choice, things get even easier. They never get easy, however.  
  
The greatest problem at the moment was time. Or was it boredom? Arranging for a satisfactory security system at the mansion he'd bought had only taken a week. It wasn't like he was going to live there, and he wouldn't store anything of value there either. In fact he was going to sell the place as soon as he got a decent offer on it. But it left him with nothing to do.  
  
Ordinarily, a kill like Sam would have left him sated for months, but..he'd been an amateur. Only three confirmed kills, and Michael doubted there were any he'd missed. No challenge, and the need to find another were already growing. Knowing that he currently were in no position to start another hunt didn't make things any better. In fact, it made it worse.  
  
Hunting a human killer is never easy, unless you listen in on the police, and doesn't mind racing them, mostly to sites where domestic abuse has run its course; but the prey you get that way tend to be hysteric men screaming at their late 'loved one'. Highly satisfactory if you take the time to get the medical records for the victim, years of documented abuse to return, but the doubt tends to be hard to quell. Did he break her arm that night, or did she fall down the stairs? And besides, no challenge.  
  
Hunting his preferred prey, killers with skill and patience, required time and resources. Not to mention time and patience. Back home he had seven unfinished cases in storage, all of them waiting for the next clue, the next hunch to lead him further.  
  
Hunting them while cut off from base, and with a world-spanning organisation looking for him? Suicidal would be the short way of describing it.  
  
And still, he was getting restless. Looking out of the windows in his suite, he could almost feel them. Down in the streets, or in the buildings around him. Killers. Men and women who, for one reason or another, preyed on their fellow mortals. Some skilled, some amateurs. Some so good that even a hundred kills had yet to lead him to them, but all of them his prey. And he couldn't hunt them now.  
  
Well, if big game were unavailable, a rabbit hunt would still relieve some stress. A few vampires, maybe a demon or two, and he would be feeling a lot better. Yes, with L.A. a few hours drive from the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, there should be plenty of vampires and demons around here.  
  
Walking over to the luggage, he began the preparations. Clothing first, of course. Vampires tend to fight unarmed, relying on speed, strength and their fangs, so no need for heavy armour. In fact, standard clothing would work just fine. Jeans, shirt, bullet-proof vest and a loose jacket. Or maybe a coat? He'd use one if he decided to bring a sword.  
  
Some modifications would be required to his armament, of course. His throwing knives were switched with a rather more expensive pair, edges lined with silver melted from a blessed crucifix and numerous religious symbols etched along the blades and on the handles. His standard .22 would come along, but with every second bullet made of wood. He also switched magazines on the .45 from standard armour piercing to a dual mix of silver (also melted from a blessed crucifix) and incendiary before slipping it into its shoulder holster.  
  
Deciding to do without the sword (wearing a coat in California during summer while hiding from the Watchers, not a clever thing to do), he instead slipped a pair of wooden stakes next to the .22 at his back before putting on the jacket. After making a quick check in the mirror to make sure none of the weapons were obvious, he walked out of his suite, and began the hunt. 


	8. Chapter Six: Surprise

Chapter six Surprise  
  
Standing on shaky legs in the dark alley, Michael cursed his own stupidity even as the corpse of the demon slowly dissolved into the shadows it had cloaked itself in.  
  
Yet, even as one hand dropped the broken dagger and feebly reached for the .45 while the other desperately sought to keep his intestines from falling out of the slash across his stomach, he couldn't help but feel more alive than he had in years. And that was not a problem. He knew that feeling. It was merely the result of adrenaline combined with the ecstasy of emerging alive from a fight that could very well have ended in his permanent death. It was a feeling well known to him, and easily controlled. He wasn't about to go running into potentially fatal fights just to feel alive.  
  
Neither was he upset about the wound; the demon being both stronger and faster than him, opening his defences to let the demon in had been the only way for him to get close enough to drive his dagger into its skull.  
  
No, what he cursed at was his stupidity in approaching the demon in hand-to- hand combat in the first place. The species was strong, and the strike that opened his stomach could just as easily have decapitated him, had it hit his neck.  
  
Of course, hand-to-hand had been the only way to kill it. Had he approached with guns, it would have never left the shadows to take solid form, and he would have been unable to kill it. And he should have just walked away when he realised that.  
  
But he knew the species, and he knew its methods. They delighted in stalking their victims, always in the shadows, fading in and out of view for hours, maybe days. However long it took before the child's parents stopped responding to the screams. And that is when it would strike, ripping the child apart and devouring it while the parents sighed happily at the silence, thinking their child finally asleep.  
  
And so he had risked his neck, going up against a shadow-stalker armed with two daggers. For the sake of children he'd risked his life? HOW IN HELL COULD HE HAVE BEEN SO STUPID!? After spotting it, he should have identified its current target, set up surveillance and prepared the child's room with lights and sealable exits, then waited for it to materialise before blasting it back to hell with heavy weaponry.  
  
But no, couldn't risk the child that way. Had to run into the dark, shadowy alley armed with daggers and challenging the stalker one on one. Next thing, maybe he'd even start participating in the Game. Or maybe just cut off his own head.  
  
Having sworn off any further heroics, and assured himself there were no other immediate dangers around, his attention turned to staying alive while his wound healed. Standing immobile, barely even drawing a breath, he focused on his heart, slowing it down and feeling his pulse rate drop rapidly and with it the loss of blood. As his quickening got to work on healing the wound from the inside out, an electric blue glow spilled out of the wound, creating an eerie dance of shadows around him in the alley. At least the wound were closing fast enough that he wouldn't die from it. He remembered the days when smaller ones had left him dead for hours. At least age carried with it some benefits.  
  
When he at last felt and watched the wound close, Michael began to take stock of the situation. Shirt, jacket and vest torn to pieces, his remaining clothes drenched in blood, and one dagger broken. Definitely not suitable for a public appearance.  
  
First priority, getting new clothes, was taken care of by quietly picking the lock and rerouting the alarms of a small clothes-shop. After picking out new clothes, he washed off the worst of the blood and dirt in the staff bathroom before getting dressed and then set to work removing all traces of having been in the shop. Cleanup accomplished, he repaired the alarm and carefully locked the door behind him, and began the walk back to the hotel.  
  
And almost walked into a vampire. A tall, dark and handsome vampire that he'd been sure was dead. In fact, if the vampire hadn't smelled the blood he hadn't completely removed and frowned at him as it and its two companions walked past him, Michael would have believed it a human and merely shrugged at the similarity with one of the few vampires he had ever bothered to hunt.  
  
Suppressing the shock and struggling to keep his heart rate from increasing, Michael kept walking even as he heard the commotion behind him. Apparently, its companions were wondering, loudly, why it was staring after him. Having roused its interest, and unwilling to merely kill it, a quick escape was necessary.  
  
Turning a corner, he rapidly walked over to a parked car, forced open the door and jumpstarted the engine. Driving off, he spotted the vampires two companions in the mirror, and frowned as the situation suddenly got a lot more intriguing. Neither the bald, black man or the young white woman were vampires. The woman (girl almost) definitely fit the vampire's target profile, but the man was tall and powerfully built, not a likely target for the cowardly creature.  
  
Returning to the hotel, he took a quick shower, dressed and then began reviewing what he could remember about the vampire.  
  
It was on the old side, for a vampire at least, having been turned in Ireland around 1750, making it almost a tenth his own age. In life, it had been a drunken, womanising piece of shit. Undead, it was a monster with enough imagination and pure malice to rival the worst human killers Michael had ever tracked. In fact, he'd believed the killings to be done by a human pretending to be a vampire when he first began the hunt. Only when he backtracked it and noticed the number of years it had been active had he come to believe it truly was a vampire.  
  
He'd hunted it for almost eight years when he lost it. Having followed it to China, at first he assumed the Boxer rebellion had covered it's tracks, but as the years went by with no trace of it, he'd slowly come to assume that it had been dusted by the Slayer he'd found killed by William the bloody, a member of it's "family".  
  
And now, more than a hundred years later, he found it undead and active in Los Angeles, and accompanied by two apparent humans. Quite an interesting situation, not fitting to it's old patterns at all. Failing to understand how he could have missed the tracks of it's slaughter for a hundred years, Michael had to assume it had gotten smart enough to cover them, making it an even craftier opponent. Oh yes, hunting it down and repaying it for it's crimes would definitely be a challenge. One that he would enjoy for weeks, maybe even months, as it screamed in agony.  
  
Author's note: Sorry for the delay since last update, but my interest in writing seems to be directly linked to the number of reviews I get. Could be because they are the only payment I get for writing. So, if you like the story and want me to keep writing, please do review. 


	9. Chapter Seven: Internal struggles

Chapter seven Internal struggles  
  
Left standing behind on the sidewalk as the man drove off, the scent of blood dissipating in the air, Angel finally managed to get the upper hand in his eternal struggle with his demon.  
  
It was not a constant battle, of course. That would have made him insane, and had in fact done so for a while shortly after he'd been cursed with the soul. No, most of the time, the demon was dormant, almost sleeping. Almost, and oh so easy to wake.  
  
Over the years, Angel had learned to recognize the situations that would wake it, and avoid them, or at least be prepared for the struggle to resume when it woke. Unfortunately, he didn't always get an advance warning, and tonight it had gotten a bucket of ice-water in the face, and woke roaring, to find him unprepared. The rich smell of fresh, human blood had hit him straight in the face as he walked with Gunn and Fred, and if the source of it hadn't driven off, the demon might very well have managed to take control long enough to rip his throat out.  
  
Almost dragging his girlfriend behind him as he approached Angel, Gunn was in no mood to wait for an explanation. An explanation that Angel couldn't provide. He needed their trust in order to keep fighting, and revealing his tenuous hold on the demon would erode that trust, maybe even destroy it. And so he concealed his struggle behind an impassive façade as he listened to his friend.  
  
"Ok man, what the hell was that all about? You go chasing after that guy without as much as a word, and now you stand here making like a statue staring after his car. What's he done to make you loose your cool like this?"  
  
"He smelled of blood, Gunn. Human blood and guts. Like he'd taken a bath in somebody's intestines before going for a walk. I wanted...I want to know why."  
  
"And you're sure you're not just confusing that with the latest in after- shave, man? Because I've got to tell you, bathing in intestines, not likely to draw in the ladies, if you get what I mean?"  
  
"It draws them in quite nicely if it's theirs. And no, I'm not mistaken. I know that smell. Trust me."  
  
Both Gunn and Fred flinched briefly, and Angel almost shuddered at his "joke". His sense of humour always deteriorated when the demon was awake. And remembering that the demon spoke from experience really didn't make the comment any more amusing.  
  
"Did you mean draw them in as in..draw them in by.? And is that a very disturbing image, that I really wish I'd not seen? And you know that smell, and you don't know him, so how are we going to find him? Did you get the licence number, because I might be able to track him down by it." Fred had obviously realized what he meant, and was desperate to get away from the subject.  
  
Angel gladly allowed her to do so. "Yes, I got the number. And I really hope you can. So, perhaps we should call off the night out, and get to work on tracking down that guy?"  
  
Nodding their heads, his friends mutely agreed to his suggestion. And during the uncomfortably silent drive back to the Hyperion, Angel brooded as he contemplated his demon and its corrupting touch on his life, even when bound by his soul.  
  
Authors note: Sorry for the short chapter, but finals have caught up with me, as well as a bit of writers-block. Next chapter will hopefully be longer. And please, if you like the story, leave a review. 


	10. Chapter Eight: Wrongful hunting

Chapter eight Wrongful hunting  
  
Two days later at the Hyperion, the search for "Mr. Not-Aftershave" was apparently going quite well. Angel had managed to get the licence-number of the car he'd driven off in, but while that lead had quickly proven to be almost useless, seeing as how the car had been reported stolen, they had realised quite a few things from the fact that the car had been stolen right in front of Angel and the gang.  
  
"So, he walked around the corner, and before you got there, he'd unlocked and gotten into the car. Which means the unlocking couldn't have taken more than four seconds at most. Then, while you're looking around for him, he starts it and drives off. All of it takes less than fifteen seconds. Man, I don't think there is a single crew out there who wouldn't love to have him helping out." Gunn's tone was definitely admiring.  
  
"That may be, but it tells us something else as well." Angel rose from his chair and walked around the desk as he talked, while he carefully tore the drawing he'd been working on off the sketchpad.  
  
"He knew we, or at least I, would follow him. The chances of him just happening to steal the car just after passing us is not what I would call good."  
  
Gunn nodded. "Oh, I see. You're saying he recognized us, or you?"  
  
"Yes. And I think I heard his heart jump when he passed us. Only it went back to normal speed so fast, and the smell was rather distracting, it kind of slipped my mind."  
  
"Ok, so we have a human who likes to bathe in blood, is en expert carjacker and recognizes Angel on sight. And who knows Angel will smell the blood on him, so he steals a car and runs off. Now what gang of bloodsucking, unscrupulous, demon-dealing lawyers do you think he might work for?"  
  
Angel grinned at Gunn and showed him the drawing of Michael. "My thoughts exactly. I think our next step in locating him would be a little chat with our dear old friend Lilah. What do you think, maybe she'll recognize him?"  
  
Meanwhile, the search for Angelus had not yet started. Michael was still marshalling his resources. Having learned of the vampire's continued existence, he'd spent the next 24 hours debating the pros and cons of hunting the creature. With the resources currently available, there were virtually no possibility of capture, which would mean attack and as slow a death as could be arranged, and for a vampire that would be fast. Despite their varied immunities, the methods of destroying them were very effective, and far faster than Angelus deserved.  
  
However, the treatment that creature deserved required resources. Resources that 'Michael Sedgewick' did not have. And while he would have no problem getting those resources, doing that risked a lot. One problem, albeit a minor one, would be the IRS. They would just love to ask him some questions about the origins of the money. That he could handle, mostly by keeping the money in funds and obligations, and also by scattering it among his temporary id's. The big problem was the Watchers. Transfers of large amounts of 'old' money, inheritances and activations of trust funds were among their most efficient ways of discovering old immortals.  
  
Even with his contacts and experience, he doubted that he could manage to conceal the tracks from the Watchers for more than three months, four at the most. Acquiring the means to make this a proper hunt would then make it necessary to abandon 'Michael Sedgewick' 4 years before his earliest planned date of escape. And with the loss of two long-term identities in the past 8 years, that meant no other long-term id's ready for use.  
  
So the question was, was Angelus worth 4 years of living on borrowed time? Trying to make do on his short-term identities while his next solid life matured? Recalling the atrocities he'd uncovered during the first hunt, the answer was obvious.  
  
He spent the next day funnelling money to newly opened bank-accounts, improving the security on the mansion (with special attention to the possibility of night-dwelling visitors) and strengthening the background on several choice id's.  
  
And then he tried to recall just where he'd placed the files he'd gathered back when he'd been hunting Angelus. They had not been thrown away, he was sure of that. He never threw away anything that might one day be of use, and that was becoming something of a problem. Some of the vaults were getting rather stuffed. In a few decades, he might have to spend some time sorting through them and getting rid of some of the junk.  
  
But right now, where had he put the files? His house in Chicago contained current, open cases only. The vault in Switzerland, valuables and closed cases, and he hadn't closed that case. He might have suspected, even believed Angelus to be dead, true, but it had not been proven, so he'd kept the case open. Australia was artefacts and things he had no clue about what was (some magic, others he suspected was of extraterrestrial origin). London? Mainly unclosed cases and some minor valuables. Nothing truly important there any more. Not after WW2. He still shuddered at the memory. Some of those bombs had been far too close to his house for comfort, and had packed enough power to erase what back then had been his most important vault. On the bright side, he'd enjoyed the fifties and sixties. He'd been rather impressed with the endurance of some of those German higher-ups. Long, interesting hunts, and happy weeks after the catch.  
  
London it was, then. Deciding to let 'Michael Sedgewick' stay in L.A., he picked out one of his newly improved id's and ordered a return trip to London for 'Michael Madsen'. He'd rather enjoyed the actors portrayal of 'Mr. Chapel', and besides, he'd always preferred to keep the first names of short-term id's the same as his current long term, seeing as last names were rarely used in conversation, thereby reducing the probability of a chance encounter raising suspicions at inopportune moments.  
  
Authors note: And in conclusion, let me once again implore you to leave a review after reading the story, even if it is just to tell me what is wrong with it. And if you like it, that is an even better reason to leave a review. I need them due to a lack of belief in my own skills as a writer. 


	11. Chapter Nine: One meeting, one delivery

Chapter nine One meeting, one delivery  
  
"THIS is their office?" Duncan exclaimed as he and Amanda left the taxi that'd transported them from their hotel. "I thought you said he was no longer a thief, or is he really making enough honest money to pay for a law firm in the big league?"  
  
"I never said that he'd given away the money he made that way. And he made quite a lot of it. He had a lot of talent, and I gave him some pointers. Not that he really needed them, but with me being the older and better thief it seemed like the thing to do."  
  
Amanda looked up at the imposing building in front of them before she continued. "As for honest money, he might be. He is recognized as one of the best in the business, and some of his systems could give me some serious trouble if I were to make a try at them. Which I won't, seeing as how I've given up on my criminal career."  
  
Entering the large, open foyer both immortals noticed that the security of the place was taken very seriously. Uniformed guards were posted at all exits, and they all gave off an air of both knowing how to use their weapons, and being willing to use them at first sign of trouble. Entrance further into the building was through numerous checkpoints set in a semi- circle in front of the elevators.  
  
Stepping up to one of the checkpoints, Amanda briefly explained to the young man behind it that they were there to meet with Lilah Morgan, and yes, they did have an appointment. His eyes glazed slightly as they roamed over Amanda's ample curves, then he smiled brightly and nodded eagerly. "Certainly, miss. Just wait one moment while I see if she's in."  
  
Amanda leaned slightly forward, and would have struggled to keep a straight face as his eyes drifted downwards if she hadn't been so used to that response. Men and the ease with which they could be manipulated never ceased to amaze her.  
  
Finally managing to tear his eyes away from Amanda and back to the screen in front of him, the receptionist typed in the name the gorgeous woman gave him, and frowned slightly at the response he got. They did have an appointment, but despite that he was instructed to alert security after sending them to Lilah. Looking back at Amanda, he really hoped she had a legitimate reason to try to get in touch with her, or he wouldn't give much for her chances of leaving the building alive.  
  
"Well, it seems that everything is ok. She is waiting for you in her office." He proceeded to open the gate and directed them towards the elevators. "You'll find her office on the 13th floor. The receptionist there will guide you the rest of the way. Have a nice day."  
  
Having been informed that Amanda Montrose and Duncan MacLeod were on their way to meet her regarding Samuel McDowell, Lilah spent the next few minutes reading up on him, and browsing through the list of people allowed to contact him through the firm. A rather short list, and it didn't contain 'Duncan MacLeod' anywhere on it. While 'Amanda Montrose' was on the list, along with a detailed description, there were no instructions about her bringing any friends. After Amanda phoned to make the appointment, she'd decided to be safe rather than sorry, and had left orders to put security on alert during the meeting, with at least one team on standby near her office.  
  
The file on Samuel was, to say the least, interesting; and not for the first time Lilah regretted the firms' strict hands-off policy regarding Immortals. People like Samuel would have made excellent employees. Remembering her recent promotion, she resolved to once again try to find out why she'd never been allowed to treat Immortals as anything other than clients, and even then only if they approached the firm on their own. It couldn't be because of fear, none of them were powerful enough to endanger the firm, and they were easy enough to kill when you knew how.  
  
Following the instructions they'd received from the receptionist on the 13th floor, Amanda and Duncan made their way to Lilah's office while discussing whether or not a floor is number 13 even if called 14, both unaware that the building had been quietly locked down behind them.  
  
After her secretary had confirmed that they did have an appointment, Lilah welcomed them into her office with a smile before offering them to have a seat, and maybe some coffee?  
  
"No, thank you. We were hoping to get this done quickly. As I explained on the phone, I'm trying to get in touch with an old friend of mine, Samuel McDowell, and I was informed that your firm would be able to help me with that."  
  
"Certainly, Ms. Montrose." Lilah replied as she sat down behind her desk "We have been instructed by Mr. McDowell to forward any messages from you directly to his current location. We are, however, not able to put you directly in touch with him until specifically instructed to do so by Mr. McDowell."  
  
"I see. How long do you expect it will take you to get the message to him?" Amanda frowned slightly at not being granted direct access to him, but she knew better than to get in an argument with a lawyer over instructions from a client.  
  
"If it is urgent, I can arrange for a courier to take the message to him. In that case, it won't be more than a few hours. Otherwise, he'll have it the day after tomorrow at the latest."  
  
"It is urgent, so the courier would be appreciated." Having expected that Michael had instructed his lawyers to not give out his address to anyone, Amanda reached into her purse and pulled out a letter she'd written earlier in the suite she shared with Duncan.  
  
"Very well, I'll make sure he gets your letter as soon as possible, Ms. Montrose. Was there anything else, then?"  
  
Handing over the letter, Amanda shook her head. "No, that would be all. Thank you very much. It's been a pleasure meeting you."  
  
Shaking her hand, Duncan gave Lilah his most charming smile. "A pleasure indeed. And let me add my sincere gratitude for your help. It's been most appreciated."  
  
Blushing slightly, and with a slightly increased pulse, Lilah reached for the phone as the door closed behind her visitors, and called for a courier to deliver an urgent letter to a client. Then, seeing as the meeting had gone smoothly, she instructed security to stand down.  
  
****  
  
"Excuse me, sir?" Michael looked up from the paperback he'd been trying to read as the well-dressed young man standing in the aisle next to his seat spoke. "My name is Anthony Tenill, sir, and I'm a courier working for Wolfram & Hart. I have an urgent letter for Mr. McDowell. If you would be so kind as to sign here, please?"  
  
Frowning slightly, and wondering how in hell the courier had found 'Samuel McDowell' when he was travelling as 'Michael Madsen', Michael signed the receipt with 'Samuel McDowell' before being handed the letter. "If it is so urgent that you had to board the plane, how come you waited until almost two hours after take-off before giving it to me?"  
  
"I'm sorry sir, but I only received it ten minutes ago. Now, if you'll excuse me?" Without waiting for an answer, the courier walked into the nearest WC, and closed the door behind him. Suddenly suspecting there were rather more to his lawyers than merely an unwillingness to ask bothersome questions, Michael kept close watch as the 'Occupied' sign failed to appear on the door. Twelve minutes later, his suspicions were confirmed when he entered the same cubicle, only to find it empty.  
  
Author's note. Ok, here is the latest chapter in my little story. Reviews are, as always, appreciated. Well, truthfully they are needed, so please, let me know what you think, ok?  
  
Oh, and this chapter have been edited to correct errors with names. I've been informed it is 'MacLeod', not 'McCloud'. Thanks go to XwingAce for pointing this out to me. Errors in verbs have not been fixed as I found myself unable to spot them. But let me point out that English is not my first language, so I figure I've got an excuse.  
  
Further editing: discovered a continuity error, had used the name James McDowell instead of Samuel McDowell. This has now been fixed. 


	12. Chapter Ten: Decisions made, advice give...

Chapter Ten Decisions made, and advice given  
  
The letter had been from Amanda, requesting that he meet with her and Duncan MacLeod regarding the headhunter that'd sent him running from Chicago. Apparently Duncan had decided that it was someone the Watchers called "the slayer", and had taken it upon himself to take his head for the atrocities he'd committed. But with no description or name, finding him required help from Michael, who'd met him and survived. Chuckling slightly at the irony, Michael tried to decide on what to do about them. Deception, avoidance or kill? He quickly decided to hold off on making a final decision until after he'd figured out what was going on with his lawyers.  
  
The rest of the flight Michael spent almost immobile in his seat, pondering what had just happened. Somehow, they had tracked him through two different identities, Samuel McDowell and Michael Madsen, without him noticing it. And then sent a courier on and off an airborne plane. Admittedly, the courier could be considered a show of good faith: "We know you're more than you appear, and look, so are we." But it didn't change matters any.  
  
The only way he could see for the couriers vanishing act was magic. If that was the case, it didn't seem unlikely that the means of locating him had also been magical in nature. Following that train of thought, it would seem that the means of preventing future unwanted locating of him would also be magic. And that was something he knew nothing about.  
  
For a brief moment he considered altering his plans, travel to Australia and search through the vault there in the hope that it contained something to prevent detection. He decided against it. His last experiment, trying to activate a ring that was supposed to enable him to alter his appearance had resulted in a rather spectacular lightshow as his Quickening blew the ring apart. He'd later come to assume that any attempt to use magic on an Immortal would be countered by the Quickening. Unfortunately, locating him didn't seem to count. Not direct enough? Or could it be that the Quickening was attempting to keep his body in the state it'd been when he first died, and only fought if that state was altered?  
  
Still, it would probably be a good idea to get at least the magical objects identified, as soon as he'd found a magician he could trust. Actually, that had just become a priority. He'd been tracked with magic, preventing it required magic, he needed a magician. Wizard, witch, warlock or whatever. A trustworthy one.  
  
Problem: how to find a trustworthy magician? From past experience he knew Dark Mages regularly frequented demon bars, but they were not what he'd call trustworthy. Rethink. A trustworthy mage would do good with their power, right? Yes. Hunting demons were a good thing, right? Again, yes.  
  
So in order to find a trustworthy magician, getting in touch with demon- hunters would seem like the thing to do. And he was on a plane to London, which contained the headquarters of the oldest demon-hunting unit he knew of. Admittedly, he'd found their tactics somewhat outdated when he'd last run into them back in 1912, but surely by now they would have at least entered the 19th century? And it wasn't as if he had a need for their tactics, just a reference to a powerful, trustworthy mage.  
  
He might even get some information about Angelus while he was at it. After all, they specialised in vampires. If anyone knew what he'd been doing after Michael lost him, it would be the Council of Watchers.  
  
****  
  
At first, Angel had argued for infiltration, going in and meeting Lilah in her office, but after a heated discussion, Gunn had managed to convince him that they had upped their security so far after his last few visits that getting in and out unharmed would be far more trouble than whatever information Lilah could give was worth. Grudgingly accepting, Angel had instead driven to Lilah's favourite bar, hoping she would drop by for a drink on her way home from work.  
  
True to expectations Lilah did stop by the bar on her way home. Making his way over to her, Angel noted that she appeared to be somewhat agitated. Slightly raised pulse, and she was well into her second drink by the time he'd made his way over from the booth he'd occupied while waiting for her.  
  
"Rough day at the office? Throw any orphans out of their homes, perhaps? Or did one of your hitmen make a mess of things?" Having approached her soundlessly, Angel was pleased with her reaction as he whispered in her ear. And somewhat surprised. A squeal and a jump was rather more of a response than he'd expected.  
  
"Don't you ever get tired of sneaking up on people?"  
  
"Not when it means I get such a lovely response out of you. So, bad day at the office?"  
  
"Actually no. I just had a meeting with one of the senior partners about a request I made. He tends to make an impression. And what do you care how my day's been? Wait, let me guess, you have a problem, and we are responsible."  
  
"Well, yes. I do have a problem. I'm looking for this man, and I promise I won't be surprised if you say he's one of your hitmen." Angel pulled the sketch he'd made of Michael from his pocket and handed it over to Lilah.  
  
Glancing at the paper, Lilah grimaced slightly before replying. "No. He's not one of our 'hitmen' as you call it. And before you ask, no, he does not work for us either. Never have, never will."  
  
"But you know who he is, and what he does."  
  
"Yes. But seeing as he's one of our clients, I really don't think that is something I am at liberty to reveal to you, or anyone else for that matter."  
  
"A client? And here I thought that one of the services Wolfram & Hart offered was removal of trouble in any way necessary. You must be slipping if he had to do it himself."  
  
Lilah frowned as she listened. "We are not 'slipping'. Not every client we have makes use of all the services we offer. Some of them even think we are nothing but a slightly corrupt lawfirm."  
  
"Does he? Is that why he walks around town smelling of fresh blood? You probably should have let him in on your true nature, or do you get better paid for defending him in court than for handling bloodshed?"  
  
"You met him? And he just walked away? Now that is a surprise, or didn't he recognize you?"  
  
"I almost walked into him two days ago. His heart jumped, then he stole a car and drove off in a hurry, so I'd guess he recognised me. And you know why, don't you?"  
  
Lilah ordered a refill on her drink before replying. "Yes I do. Doesn't mean I'm going to tell you." Downing her drink in a single gulp, she looked back at Angel. "Have you ever considered hiring a PR-firm? Letting people know that with you having a soul, Angelus is long gone? First Holz, and now Samuel. Your soulless self sure knew how to make a lasting impression on people."  
  
"Are you saying he knew Angelus? Not a very likely story, Lilah. First, the man I met was human, or is he another time-traveller like Holz? And if he did know Angelus, how come I don't remember seeing him before?"  
  
"I didn't say Angelus knew him, did I? As for what he is, that is confidential. What I can say is that you should really consider not antagonizing him. In fact, I'd advice you to make sure he knows that the only thing you have in common with Angelus is inhabiting his body." Lilah smirked as she imagined the likelihood of Samuel believing that.  
  
"Are you saying this Samuel is a vampire-hunter? Then how come you have him as a client?"  
  
"Samuel is not a vampire-hunter, Angel. And even if he were, we'd have no problems with him being a client. After all, we're a demonic, not a vampiric lawfirm." Paying for her drinks, Lilah rose to leave. "And now that I've told you all I'm going to, I think it's time for me to leave. Have fun, and give Samuel my regards when you meet him."  
  
Author's note: Yet another chapter delivered. Hope you enjoy, and review even if you didn't. Also, I've lowered the rating seeing as things seems to go less bloody than I originally expected. I'll raise it again if things change.  
  
This chapter have also been edited to correct errors with names. I've been informed it is 'MacLeod', not 'McCloud'. Thanks go to XwingAce for pointing this out to me. Errors in verbs have not been fixed as I found myself unable to spot them. But let me point out that English is not my first language, so I figure I've got an excuse.  
  
Further editing: continued fixing the continuity error. The name Michael's been using with Wolfram & Hart is Samuel McDowell, not James McDowell. 


	13. Chapter Eleven: Deductive leaps

Chapter Eleven Deductive leaps  
  
Having returned to the Hyperion, Angel barely had time to get himself a cup of fresh blood before Gunn and Fred, both eager to learn if he'd discovered anything new, entered the kitchen.  
  
"Well, don't hold it in. Did she tell you who he is?" Gunn opened the inquisition, quickly followed by Fred.  
  
"Don't be so impatient, Gunn. I'm sure Angel will let us know what he discovered as soon as he's got something to eat. Did she say if he's human, at least?"  
  
Angel swallowed the mouthful he'd been savouring when they entered and returned his thoughts to the case they were working on.  
  
"Well, she did tell me a few things about him, but not much in the way of facts. In fact, all she really told me was his name, Samuel, and that he is a client of Wolfram & Hart. She implied that he isn't human, but she also hinted that he doesn't know of their demonic connections and 'special' services."  
  
"By 'special' I guess you mean murder, blackmail and other less-than-legal services?"  
  
"Gunn, don't interrupt Angel when he's talking. Does he have a last name, or is it just Samuel? I don't think I can manage to dig up much information with merely the first name."  
  
"He probably have a last name, but she didn't give it. Apparently client confidentiality actually means something to her." Angel frowned as he took another sip of blood. Room-temperature pigs blood, not good. "But something else she said really bothers me. She claimed that he knew Angelus, and not in a good way. Made me think they were enemies, but I don't remember having ever seen him before, not even as Angelus."  
  
"But wouldn't that make him more than a hundred years old? How can a hum..oh, you said she implied that he isn't human. But if he is a demon, shouldn't he know what Wolfram & Hart really is?"  
  
Gunn nodded. "Yeah, she's right. If he's a demon, then there is no reason for them to hide what they are from him, so what is going on here?"  
  
"I don't know. I guess he could be human. She didn't say he wasn't, just that it was confidential. It wouldn't really surprise me if she tried to mislead us. But that leaves the question of how he recognized Angelus, when he hasn't been around for more tha..Sunnydale!"  
  
"Huh? Angelus hasn't been around for more than Sunnydale? What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"I lost my soul for a while in Sunnydale, Gunn. And that was just a few years ago. He could know him from there. In fact, that makes sense. He looked like he's in the early twenties, maybe a bit older than Buffy. If he was in high-school back then, Angelus could very well have killed some of his friends."  
  
"You're right. It does make sense. You, as in Angelus-you, killed some of his friends, and now he's a crazy killer with enough money to be client of Wolfram & Hart." Gunn glared at Angel as he continued. "It makes sense, and not in a good way."  
  
Angel sighed. "I know. That could make me responsible for what he's become, as well as endangering you if he decides to take revenge for what Angelus did."  
  
"But we don't know for sure, do we? It could be some other reason for him to recognize you as Angelus. And even if that is the reason, it doesn't make you responsible for what he is. Whatever happened, it was Angelus, and you're not responsible for what he did."  
  
Angel gave Fred a brief smile before he replied. "Thanks, but we still have to find and stop him. And if he's from Sunnydale, then that is where we need to go if we want to find out more about him."  
  
****  
  
The first thing Michael did upon arrival was calling Lilah, and arranging for her to inform Amanda and Duncan that he was currently out of town, but expected to be back in one, maybe two weeks. Could they perhaps meet then?  
  
Having decided to contact the Council, Michael's next problem was figuring out how to do that. He didn't expect it to be easy, or at least not cheap. After all, he was trying to get in touch with a secret organization that he'd never had any formal dealings with. And the second last encounter with them had consisted of him killing the cowardly bastard who'd sent the Slayer out to face the Scourge and family on her own while staying safely at home himself. He suspected it would not be wise to inform them of that when he found them.  
  
His last encounter with them had yielded some useful information, and might lead to current members of the organization. Back in 1912 he'd encountered a Slayer on patrol, and remarkably enough her Watcher had accompanied her. Of course, while the man's dedication and courage had impressed him, his tactics hadn't. The girl had been carrying a stake, and he'd been armed with a crossbow.  
  
That meeting had been cordial, and the Watcher had introduced himself as Edward Travers. He had not mentioned being a Watcher, and had in fact attempted to explain the situation in a truly ridiculous manner. Brave and dedicated, but a lousy liar. It had amused Michael to play along, and he had left the two undoubtedly assured they'd run into the world's most gullible person.  
  
Knowing that membership passed down from father to son, his search for the Council mainly consisted of hiring investigators to track down the descendants of that Watcher.  
  
Next was deciding how to make the approach. He would prefer not alienating them by stealing the information he needed, but he seriously doubted them handing it over if he asked nicely. A trade would be ideal, and fortunately for him (and them), he had just the thing. A little something they would pay dearly to retrieve.  
  
After killing the Chinese Watcher, he'd taken his journal, hoping it would help him in his search for Angelus. As it turned out, it had been of no use then, but now? Retrieving the last, and only, seeing as she'd been active for merely four months, journal of a Slayer would no doubt be worth the few pieces of information he wanted in return.  
  
Author's note: Ok, first, let me apologise for the delay since last chapter. I blame real life and a lack of inspiration (I think my muse went on strike). Second, I found, and have corrected, a grievous error in past chapters. I gave Michael the alias Samuel McDowell to use with Wolfram & Hart, and then went on to use the name James instead. This happened to be the name of an insignificant newbie headhunter he'd killed in Chicago, and I hope this haven't caused to many misunderstandings. Please forgive me; I'll try not to do it again.  
  
Oh, and don't forget to review and let me know what you think of my story. 


	14. Chapter Twelve: Preparations and truthfu...

Chapter Twelve  
  
Preparations and truthful deception  
  
After three days and almost 65 thousand pounds, the investigators Michael had hired had managed to find 15 direct decendants of Edward Travers, 12 of which were still alive. Ruling out any over 90 or below 18 left 7, tossing out any females and the number had dropped to 3. Of these the most likely candidate had been Quentin Travers, the oldest son of Edward's only son. A quick search through his taxes and credit history had revealed that he had spent his entire life employed in the same firm as his grandfather, a discovery that had almost made Michael groan out loud.  
  
Having decided to make the most of the opportunity, Michael had dismissed all but two of the investigators, and had tasked them with investigating the organizatioral structure of the Council. If the Council were to ever discover the existence of Immortals, Michael had no doubt that they would begin hunting them, either because they were not human, or, should they learn of the Game, in order to prevent someone like the Kurgan from taking the prize. Should that happen, Michael intended to be in a position to eliminate them before they could do too much damage.  
  
Having long ago made plans to deal with the Watchers, he would now make similar plans for the Council. Should it be necessary, mercenaries and assassins on retainer would be activated and receive detailed plans. Considering the apparently sentralized organizatioral structure of the Council, Michael estimated a near complete wipeout could be achieved in a single strike, unlike the merely severe wound he hoped to be able to give the Watchers if they ever became a serious threat.  
  
Thus having begun the preparations to kill them all, Michael had phoned the Council and arranged the trade of one journal in return for answers about Angelus and a recommendation to a skilled white-magic user.  
  
****  
  
Remembering Edward, Michael was once again amazed at how little genetics mattered in determining the personality of an individual. Quentin looked almost exactly like an older version of his grandfather, but were Edward had impressed Michael, Quentin had almost disgusted him. The man was clearly nothing more than a scheming bureaucrat, a politician were his grandfather had been a teacher and a warrior. And he was head of the Council, an organization whose primary function were teaching and supporting the Slayer, a teenage girl.  
  
Returning from the meeting, Michael remembered the trust and love apparent between Edward and the Slayer he'd been in charge of, and the callous behaviour he'd killed for in China. It seemed that Edward just might have been an aberration in the organization. As soon as he'd finished with Angelus and the nosy attorneys, Michael would have to dig deeper into the Council, maybe even join it if he could. And then, should his suspicions regarding the treatment of the Slayer be correct, he just might have some fun.  
  
Regarding the meeting itself, Michael was puzzled. They had answered his questions fully, and as far as he could tell they had not told a single lie. Still, something had seemed..off. Something they had not wanted him to know? Or merely a reaction to his appearance? He had after all chosen to appear before them as a ruffled, slightly unstable vampire-hunter, hoping to limit the amount of questions they would ask of him, and also to encourage swift answers in order to get him out the door.  
  
Their reaction had been almost exactly as he'd expected, and had reminded him of some of his dealings with government officials during his mercenary days; "We need your services, but we neither like nor trust you." In retrospect, going for quick answers and few questions asked may have been a mistake. If there were something about Angelus they didn't want known, his appearance had certainly not encouraged them to share.  
  
However, going over the information he'd received he was unable to spot anything pointing at missing pieces of the puzzle.  
  
Apparently Angelus had left the remainder of the Scourge mere hours after William the bloody had sought out and single-handledly killed a Slayer, something Angelus had never dared even to attempt. Could the younger vampire have used his sudden notoriety to wrest control of the Scourge from Angelus, driving him away? Not unlikely, given the cowardly nature of Angelus, and the fact that William, now using the moniker 'Spike', had been accompanying Drusilla ever since gave credence to the assumption.  
  
After that, the Council had not been able to track Angelus for years. The first verified appearance after 1900 had placed him in Los Angeles, at the Hyperion hotel. Using the name 'Angel' he had 'lived' there for an extended period of 1952. During that period there had been several suicides among the other guests, and a suspected bankrobber, a young woman named Judy Kovacs, had checked into the hotel and vanished. She'd never been found, and were presumed dead. The photo in the newspaper clipping the Council showed him were of a woman who would fit well into Angelus' original target profile. He'd vanished shortly before the bellhop, Frank Gillnets, were arrested for murdering a salesman, whose corpse he'd stored in the hotel meatlocker.  
  
Michael remembered reading about the trial. Gillnets had been suspected of being responsible for more than one of the 'suicides', but nothing had been proven. Still, the suspicions, combined with the mutilation of the corpse in the murder he was found guilty of, had been enough to get him executed. Back then, Michael had been saddened that he'd not even suspected a serial- killer were in action at the hotel, now he felt he might owe the man's spirit an apology. Apparently, Angelus had escaped his attention by changing his M.O. completely; hiding his preferred victims among suicides and framing innocents for those deaths his 'artistry' made impossible to hide.  
  
His next appearance had been in Sunnydale, fall 1996 until spring 1999, still using the name Angel. There, he'd actually seduced the Slayer. Apparently, he'd managed that by pretending to help her, and had even staked Darla, his Sire, in order to save the Slayer's life. Considering that Darla had been observed in the company of Angelus and Drusilla a few months ago in Los Angeles, Michael wondered how he'd managed to pull off that deception. Turned some poor girl who looked like Darla and then ordered the fledgling to pretend to be Darla before staking her seemed the most likely explanation.  
  
Having pulled off the seduction, 'Angel' had attempted to kill her, but failed. He'd then returned to his old name and habits, stalking and terrorizing the girl and her Watcher, and had even briefly joined with Spike and Drusilla. The revival of the Scourge had ended in an attempt to open the Hellmouth and destroy the world. Michael found the next part hard to believe; the attempt had been prevented by Spike teaming up with the Slayer to stop the opening and sending Angelus to a hell dimension. Seeing as he'd somehow escaped, Michael resolved to settle with dusting the creature when finished with it.  
  
After the return from the hell dimension, Angelus had left Sunnydale for Los Angeles, and had apparently resided there ever since. The Council had decided to keep out of his way after one of their retrieval teams, hunting a rogue Slayer, were trashed by Angelus and the Slayer working together. And even though that Slayer had since surrendered herself to the police for murder, the Council were unwilling to move against the vampire.  
  
A rather puzzling story. A master vampire working with a Slayer to save the world from his grand-Sire, her lover. A Slayer gone rogue (the same, or her replacement?) working with Angelus against the Council and then going to jail for murder. Michael was beginning to think that this hunt would be among the more amusing he'd ever had. After the Council, he might give some thought to the idea of hunting older vampires more often.  
  
First things first, though. First a trip to Sunnydale for a talk with the witch the Council had recommended. Apparently there were two witches working alongside the Slayer there. He probably should have asked whether the jailed Slayer had died, or been reformed. The witches, a Tara Maclay and Willow Rosenberg, were both registered at level five. Knowing nothing about how the levels worked or where they were registered, he'd have to assume it was high, given that they were working with the Slayer on a Hellmouth. If he was fortunate they might even have some knowledge about the time Angelus had spent there. Then, if they could help with preventing magical tracking of him, he'd have to settle things with Amanda and Duncan before continuing the hunt for Angelus. He really hoped he wouldn't have to kill Amanda, he'd always found her youthful spirit rather amusing.  
  
Author's note: Ok, here is the next part of the story. Many thanks for the reviews I've received, they keep me working. I humbly offer many apologies for the delay since the last instalment. I have many reasons, and while some of them involve laziness, others involve Connor and my lack of interest in the show after his inclusion. I swear, if I don't stop hating him soon, I won't even try to find a good reason for Michael to let that brat live. 


	15. Chapter Thirteen: Truth uncovered

Chapter Thirteen  
  
Truth uncovered  
  
It wasn't until he got on the plane back to Los Angeles two days after the meeting with Travers that Michael finally allowed himself to let the matter rest. He'd been suckered, he knew it, and for the time being there were nothing he could, or at least would, do about it. None of the information he'd received was false; he had no doubt about that. That meant that there were something he had not been told, something the Council, or at least its leader did not want him to know.  
  
If this had been a regular hunt, it would have been necessary for him to determine exactly what that was. Every piece of evidence would have to have been examined. But this wasn't a regular hunt. There were no voices to quiet, no doubt to quell. He knew the guilt of his prey, and so he merely sought to learn of the new habits it had acquired since last he was on its trail.  
  
Whatever dealings Angelus might have had with the Council would have no bearing on Michael's plans for him, and as for the Council? They were on his list for later. He would learn what they'd attempted to hide; it just weren't necessary to spend the limited time he had for this hunt on learning it right now.  
  
Leaning back in his seat he began reviewing his plans for Sunnydale.  
  
One major problem with Sunnydale was of course that is contained a Hellmouth, apparently one of the larger, or at least most active ones. Which meant that humans were quite likely a minority group in the immediate area, and an endangered one at that. Considering the various immunities of demons, his regular weapons would not be enough. And that had required a quick journey home to Chicago. There he'd spent the last eight hours packing enough weapons and ammunition to wipe out a small army, and arranging their discreet transportation to L.A.  
  
He'd also taken the opportunity to send the files he'd gathered on his currently open cases to temporary storage in Australia, and arranged for his home to suffer a catastrophic fire in three weeks, or sooner should anyone be unfortunate enough to break in. Gelatinous gasoline and explosives would remove all traces of him ever having lived there.  
  
From L.A. he would drive to Sunnydale, take possession of the house he'd purchased there, and then make contact with either Tara or Willow. He was hoping they'd be willing to work for money, but he suspected he would have to part with some of the artefacts he'd gathered over the years instead. After all, what use was money to a powerful witch?  
  
The only decision left to make was his appearance, the personality he would present. The Slayer would probably respond best to a young, carefree hunter, somewhat like how he'd appeared to the council, though he should probably tone a bit down on the unstable part. The witches and the Watcher however, were not likely to appreciate that. Slightly older, cold and professional were most likely to not cause offence there. Just add a sense of humour to make sure he didn't appear too stiff, and it would probably go over well with the Slayer too.  
  
****  
  
Two weeks after Duncan began his hunt for the slayer, Joe learned about 'Michael Sedgewick', and was intrigued. Immortals not playing the Game were rare, and the numbers of those not spending their time constantly on holy ground could be counted by the fingers on one hand, and you'd only need two of them. And neither of those two matched the description he'd gotten from Amanda. They didn't look anything like him, and were far younger. And not expected to get much older either.  
  
Yet here was one almost three hundred years old who'd spent his entire time as an Immortal running from Challenges, not even practising with a sword. And Joe had never heard of him before. And after a quick search through the main database using the various aliases he'd also gotten from her, he knew why. Michael, or Samuel McDowell, as his original name was supposed to be, had never been discovered by the Watchers.  
  
Yes, he'd been intrigued. And then suspicious. Granted, as an expert thief he would be expected to be hard to discover, especially if he avoided the glamorous lifestyle Amanda favoured, but he knew her. She claimed to have met him repeatedly over the last two centuries, yet he was mentioned in none of her Chronicles. None of her Watchers had reported her meeting and occasionally working with an unidentified Immortal.  
  
Trying to solve the mystery, he'd called and asked for more details on when and where they'd met. Armed with the new info, he had returned to her Chronicles. And was now rapidly closing on panic.  
  
Fourteen. That was the number of times she'd met the man currently calling himself 'Michael Sedgewick'. And that was the number of Watchers who'd died shortly before or after each meeting. Victims of accidents, disastrous fires, robberies gone wrong or merely disappeared. The list was long and varied, and so obvious once he knew what to look for.  
  
Whenever Amanda had run into him, her Watcher had died shortly after in some manner that also destroyed their field notes. When they planned a meeting, her Watcher suffered a fatal accident shortly before the meeting, usually leaving the field notes intact. If it had been almost any other Immortal, Joe would have suspected them of working together, but he knew Amanda almost as well as he knew Duncan. Cold-blooded murder was not for her, nor would she count someone like the slayer as a friend, unless she had no idea of his true nature.  
  
And now, with Duncan hunting the slayer, Amanda were leading him right to the monster, yet with the hunters unaware that their prey was masquerading as a friend, and fully aware of their intentions.  
  
Walking as fast as his prostheses would allow, he left his office and headed for Methos' apartment. 


	16. Chapter Fourteen: Hunter approaching

Chapter Fourteen  
  
Hunter approaching  
  
Seeing as how the weapons from Chicago would take almost two days to arrive, Michael figured he might as well spend some of the spare time to get Duncan and Amanda off his back. Preferably without having to kill either of them, despite his firm belief that the death of Duncan MacLeod would be for the best of Immortals everywhere. In fact, if not for his vow never to Challenge another Immortal, he'd have long since hunted him down and taken his head.  
  
Thinking about how to get them off his back quickly led to another problem. His usual habit of killing the Watcher of whatever Immortal he intended to meet would not serve him well under these circumstances. Killing the Watcher of an Immortal hunting for a killer of Watchers seemed like a bad idea at both first and second glance. He would have to leave the Watcher alive, and that he could only do if he managed to keep the Watcher from observing him.  
  
Getting both Immortals to the meeting would mean two Watchers. That would give them the chance to cooperate, leaving one to follow their assignments while the other tracked down the Immortal they where meeting. And then he would have to kill them. No, he would have to insist on meeting only one of them, and then arrange for the Watcher to be unable to observe the meeting itself.  
  
Crossing his arms behind his head, Michael leaned back in the chair and began plotting out how to meet an Immortal without letting on that the meeting was carefully set up to exclude any unwanted observers.  
  
Meeting Amanda would be preferable in some ways, he knew her and knew she liked and trusted him, making it easier to deceive her, yet that very same familiarity would make it next to impossible to set up the meeting in such a way as to keep the Watchers away. Undesirable as the thought was, if he met with Duncan he could easily explain away the precautions as a mere lack of trust in the young Immortal. Older Immortal, he quickly corrected himself. Best to get back into character before the meeting.  
  
****  
  
Calling Duncan into the room as she hung up the phone, Amanda frowned slightly as she considered the conversation she'd just had with Michael. He'd called to let her know that he was back in L.A. and ready to meet her and describe the headhunter he'd ran from in Chicago, and had not been at all pleased to find out that it was Duncan who really wanted the meeting. Apparently Michael had heard about some of Duncan's latest exploits, and considered him at best a magnet for trouble, and possibly a headhunter, a belief that was not lessened by the fact that he was hunting the Immortal who'd been challenging Michael. Convincing him to meet with Duncan had taken some work, and had left him angry enough to hang up at one point. He'd called her right back and apologized; yet they'd both agreed it would be best if she stayed away from the meeting.  
  
"You called?"  
  
"Yes. That was Michael on the phone just now. He's in town and is ready to talk to you. And you owe me for this. Convincing him to meet you wasn't easy, and I really hope he won't stay angry for long."  
  
"Why would he be angry with you for this? We're trying to stop a monster, a cheater that almost took his head."  
  
"He's angry because he doesn't want to meet you. Seems like your reputation isn't exactly looking good to someone not carrying a sword. And can you blame him? You have taken quite a few heads lately, and to him this is looking like headhunting."  
  
"He thinks I'm a headhunter? That's insane! I tried to stay out of the Game, and it's not like I go out hunting for the fun of it. The slayer has to be stopped, and that is the only reason I'm doing this."  
  
"I know that, darling. But he doesn't know you the way I do, and so he got upset. No big thing, he'll get over it. It just means I'll stay away until he cools down, and you meet in a public location."  
  
"Public? Why not on holy ground? We can't fight there, wouldn't he feel safer there?"  
  
"I suggested it, but he prefers meeting in public, always have. He's never been the type to run to holy ground, as far as I know."  
  
"Never? That's rather impressive, you know. Managing to stay out of the Game, without running to holy ground. I wouldn't have thought it possible, not for long, at least."  
  
"Why do you think I want you to train him? He's managed so far, but it can't last. Not for long. Sooner or later he won't run fast enough. So when you meet him, please, be on your best behaviour, and try to get him to come to you for training? I don't want to lose another friend."  
  
"I'll offer to train him, Amanda. And if he refuses, maybe after I've handled the slayer, we try it the way you suggested back in France? Perhaps using Methos to kill him? He may not be much into the Game, but the old man does an impressive headhunter impersonation, after all."  
  
****  
  
Barging into Methos' apartment Joe was not surprised to find the old man comfortably seated with a book and a can of beer in hand, the stereo loudly delivering something he guessed to be AC/DC. As usual, he briefly pondered how the oldest Immortal could, with hardly any effort, seem to be younger than MacLeod. Shaking the thought away, he stalked over to the chair.  
  
"Mac is in trouble. We have to help him!"  
  
"The slayer? He's found him? Or have the slayer found Duncan?"  
  
"He's found the slayer. Kinda. One of Amanda's friends claimed to be running from a headhunter in Chicago, and Duncan assumed it might be the slayer. Only it turns out her friend is the slayer, and they don't know it! He could kill them both without them ever knowing who he is!"  
  
"Her friend is the slayer? Strange. Amanda may not be the best judge of character around, but I'd think she'd be able to notice someone so obviously psychotic as the slayer appears to be. How did you figure it out?"  
  
"Curiosity and inside info. I wondered why I'd never heard of a three hundred year old Immortal not playing the Game, so I asked for more information from her. Turned out it was because we'd never discovered him. Whenever he met Amanda, he made it a point to kill off her Watcher, made certain we didn't discover him."  
  
"And you never caught on to the slayer having a preference for Amanda's Watchers? As I recall, his handiwork is rather hard to miss."  
  
"If he'd killed them in his usual way, then yes, we would have noticed. But he didn't. He made it look like accidents, and its not like they met all that often. Hell, I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been looking through her journal knowing when they'd met, looking for reasons why her Watcher had never mentioned her meeting an unknown Immortal!"  
  
"Accidents? You're saying that he's only torturing Watchers he catch following him, while arranging accidents for Watchers following Immortals he's meeting?" Clearly not expecting a reply, Methos frowned slightly as he put down the book he'd been reading before getting up from the chair. Still holding the beer he began pacing the room as he considered the news.  
  
Watching as the ancient Immortal put the puzzle together, Joe made use of the vacant chair. While his prostheses were good, the panicked walk had taken rather more out of him than he wanted to admit.  
  
"Joe, I don't like this. I think I'm starting to understand him, and I can't say I like it at all."  
  
****  
  
Walking into the lobby of the hotel, the buzz in the back of his head told Duncan that another Immortal, hopefully Michael, were somewhere in the vicinity. Glancing around, he couldn't immediately identify the other, so he followed the instructions Amanda had given him and walked through the lobby and into the bar.  
  
Comfortably seated in front of a portable computer in his room above the lobby, Michael trimmed the photo he'd received from the camera he'd planted in the lobby, and set it to print.  
  
As soon as it was done printing he called in the man he'd hired earlier, and gave him his final instructions, along with the finished printout before sending him down to the bar.  
  
Using the time while the computer powered down to check the room, Michael then walked over to the hotels two elevators, only one of which were currently in use. He'd ensured this by slipping ten dollars to a young boy, with a promise of twenty more if he managed to hold the elevator for him. After paying the boy, Michael held the doors open while he waited.  
  
****  
  
"Well, that was a big waste of time!"  
  
"Not entirely, Charles. After all, we did learn that he has been in Sunnydale. And that implies that our hypothesis regarding the relationship between him and Angelus is likely correct."  
  
"Yeah? And it didn't strike you as funny the way Angel's ex and her friends wouldn't let us know who had seen him, or even when?"  
  
"Sort of, but they said the one who'd seen him didn't really remember where or when, and there could be any number of reasons for someone not to want to meet Angel, especially in Sunnydale. He did kill quite a large number of people there, after all. Stands to reason that someone familiar with him would want to stay as far away as possible. No offence meant, Angel."  
  
"None taken. And I agree. There are many reasons for a resident of Sunnydale to not want my attention. I just wish whoever it was could have remembered more than merely having seen him. When and where would have been useful, and a name would have been great."  
  
"Yeah. The info we have so far isn't much use in tracking him down. And since the Powers that Be haven't deigned to send Cordelia a vision about him, and none of the corpses found in the last few days have been disembowelled, it seems our only hope of catching him is to continue showing his picture around, and maybe hoping that he'll decide to come after Angel so we can kick his ass."  
  
"We should be so lucky. But if he recognized Angel from Sunnydale, he's most likely left town by now. He did after all run off after seeing him."  
  
"That's right, Fred. And if he did run, there's not much we can do about it. I think we'll show his picture around for a couple more days, and then just remain alert in case he decides to come after me."  
  
Driving out of Sunnydale, they paid little attention to the bus heading into Sunnydale, and none of them spotted the young teen sitting alone in the back. Somewhat late, Angel's son followed the trail of his estranged father into the town that had once unleashed the monster in him.  
  
Author's note: Another chapter posted. Yay me. As usual, please review if you like, or even if you don't like. And to those who've requested being told when I update, I'm trying to get something sorted out, maybe within a week or two. 


	17. Chapter Fifteen: Honour and homecoming

Chapter Fifteen  
  
Honour and homecoming  
  
"Huh? Was there anything to like before I discovered who the slayer is?"  
  
"Not what I meant. I don't like it because he's not insane. He's got reasons to do what he does."  
  
Shaking his head, Methos walked over to the fridge and pulled out a cold can of beer, casually tossing it to Joe.  
  
"Thanks. And what reasons might he have to go around torturing and murdering people? Have you seen the descriptions of what he's done to the poor bastards he's caught? Seems to me he'd have to be crazy to do it."  
  
"Not necessarily. I'm not saying he doesn't like what he does, but if he did it for pure pleasure, then he'd kill all Watchers he encountered in much the same way. No, he's got other reasons for it. And there are only so many possible reasons for torturing and killing people you don't know."  
  
"And those are.?"  
  
"Well, there is hate. He could hate the Watchers, maybe the Hunters killed someone close to him. It would fit the torture, but then again, he'd probably kill you all in the same way, and probably actively hunt Watchers as well."  
  
Opening the can and taking a small sip, Joe nodded in agreement.  
  
"He tortures Watchers following him, but arranges 'accidents' for those watching Immortals he's meeting. It might be that the torture is done as punishment for daring to follow him, but that extreme a reaction to something so trivial would indicate a rather uncontrollable temper, and that doesn't add up to someone Amanda would be friends with."  
  
"I guess, but then why does he do it? It's not like we're a danger to him or anything."  
  
"If not torturing for hate or pleasure, the most likely reason is for information, and given that he's managed to stay out of your Chronicles even better than I managed, I'd say that what he's after is information regarding how he was spotted, how long he's been followed and whatever else you've discovered about him. All kind of things that he can use to get away again. And that leads to why he's doing it."  
  
Sighing, Methos slouched down on the sofa across from Joe and drank deeply of his own can before continuing.  
  
"I think he's doing it because he's afraid, Joe."  
  
Sputtering, Joe would have surged to his feet if not for the prostheses.  
  
"You're saying he's killed dozens, maybe hundreds of Watchers, torturing lots of them, because he's AFRAID!? What the hell's he got to be afraid of? We're historians, we have oaths not to interfere, we stay out of your business! Hell, we didn't even interfere with Caspian, much as I regret that!"  
  
"Does the name James Horton ring a bell, Joe?"  
  
Joe winced, remembering the pain he'd felt as he pulled the trigger and killed his brother-in-law.  
  
"He was an aberration, and you know it. And we cleaned up after it, got rid of all his sympathisers. "  
  
"Oh? How about Jack Shapiro?"  
  
"I tried to stop him, you know that! But Galanti'd killed his son, he was hunting us for what Horton'd done to his wife. There was no reasoning with either of them. But that is over now. We've learned, it won't happen again."  
  
"Joe, the thing about Shapiro isn't that he killed Galanti. It's the ease by which he got so many other Watchers to help him. It was worse than with Horton. They were a minority of the Watchers, but all of a sudden you all seemed to forget the oath, and go hunting. With almost no evidence you guys tried to kill Mac for what Galanti'd done."  
  
"People make mistakes, Methos. We're only human, but that doesn't excuse the slayer. He's been killing us for centuries! Way before Horton and Shapiro were even born!"  
  
"And do you really believe that Horton was the first Watcher to ever kill one of us? For that matter, was I the first Immortal to ever infiltrate you? Or how about the Chronicles themselves? How many of those have you lost over the years?"  
  
"What are you saying, that you agree with him? You think he's right, that we are a danger to you?"  
  
"I don't agree with what he's doing, no, but yes, I think he's right. Why do you think I worked so hard to remain unwatched, or why I infiltrated the Methos project? It certainly wasn't because I enjoyed reading about the efforts you took to locate me."  
  
Shocked, Joe sank back in the chair, clearly not believing what he was hearing.  
  
"But it's not like that! We learned from those episodes. It's not going to happen again!"  
  
"Joe, I believe you. You did learn from those 'episodes'. That is why I'm still here. I truly believe you'll make sure anything like that doesn't happen again, in your lifetime. But a hundred years from now? Or a thousand? I can guarantee you that some day a Watcher will behead an Immortal, and someone other than me will infiltrate you, or get their hands on a Chronicle. Or just become friendly with one of you, and get the information needed to take some easy heads."  
  
"So because something might happen a thousand years from now, we should just let that bastard go on killing us, is that what you're saying?"  
  
"Of course not! I might understand, even agree with why he's doing it, but he's taking it to extremes, and then there is the murdering of civilians as well. No, I agree that he's got to be stopped; I just don't like having to hunt down and kill someone for seeing a danger and acting on it. Even if it is overreacting."  
  
"And don't forget the cheating at Challenges. That is after all the main reason Mac went after him."  
  
"Ah, yes. The Challenges. The ones were he uses a gun, and takes the head when the one Challenging him is dead. Isn't that what you told Mac? The Immortal who Challenges him. He told Amanda the truth, Joe. He doesn't play the Game. Only instead of running he kills whoever threatens him, just like he does with the Watchers. No, I certainly don't like hunting this one."  
  
Shaking himself slightly, as if to shrug off uncomfortable memories, Methos silently reminded himself that the mortal sitting across from him was his friend, and so were MacLeod and Amanda. He might not like it, but for their sake he would take the head of 'the slayer'.  
  
"Ok, first things first. I don't think Mac and Amanda are in any immediate danger from the sl..this is ridiculous! What does this friend of Amanda call himself?"  
  
"His current identity is 'Michael Sedgewick', but Amanda seems to believe his original name is Samuel McDowell. Or at least that is the name of the young Immortal he pretends to be, anyway. And is it truly that easy to pretend to be a new Immortal?"  
  
"Well, yes and no. I could probably tell if he's way older than he pretends, but Amanda'd be too young to have developed that ability. Anyway, as I was saying, I doubt they are in any immediate danger, as long as 'Samuel' believes that he can mislead them, so I think the best approach may be to not tell them about this, let Samuel send them on their way while we move up from behind."  
  
"You can't be serious. This guy is slaughtering people because they MIGHT be a danger, and you think Mac and Amanda'd be safe from him? Need I remind you that they are hunting him with intent of cutting his head off?"  
  
"I know that, but as far as they know, he's not their target. He's a friend of Amanda who's helping them find the Immortal they are hunting. As long as they go on believing that, they're safe from him."  
  
"And what about their Watchers? You think he'll be willing to let them live, as well?"  
  
"Ah, probably not. If we don't expose him, we have to call them, get them out of town before Mac and Amanda meet him."  
  
"Assuming we do that, why should we let them go on believing that he's a friend? Why not just call Mac and tell him who he's really after? Then he can take his head and this is all over."  
  
"Because if I'm right, then telling Mac would be the same as signing his death warrant. The first thing he'd do would be to confront Samuel, possibly taking care to prevent him from using his guns, and issue a Challenge. And Samuel would refuse to accept it. And there is just no way Mac would take the head of an Immortal who's not even carrying a sword, he's way to honourable for that. He'd let him walk away first. But Samuel would undoubtedly then consider Mac a potential danger, and he'd remove it at first opportunity, possibly along with Amanda."  
  
Joe paled as he considered the scenario Methos was painting. Try as he might, he couldn't help but agree. The Highlander would never strike down an unarmed man, and if Samuel truly refused to lift or even carry a sword, he was perfectly safe. At least from Duncan MacLeod. But the Immortal who'd once been Death? He didn't think Methos would hesitate a second before cutting the bastards head off.  
  
"Good point. So he sends them on a wild-goose chase, while we do what?"  
  
"You get the Watchers to dig into 'Michael Sedgewick'. I need to know all there is about him, particularly how he creates his identities. What kind of resources he's got access to would also be nice to know. Just make sure they stay away from him, and try no to alert him in any way. Meanwhile, I'm going to L.A. to join Mac and Amanda in the hunt, and maybe get to meet 'Samuel'."  
  
The last was said with a smile cold enough to freeze the beer he was still holding, and Joe relaxed as the ancient Immortal prepared to deal with the monster.  
  
****  
  
Walking behind the man Michael had sent to bring him to their meeting, Duncan was beginning to wonder just what was going on. This entire situation just didn't feel right. He could vaguely accept that Michael preferred meeting in public rather than on holy ground, but then why had he sent this man to fetch him away from the agreed upon location?  
  
His unease had first been roused when the man he'd tentatively identified as his current Watcher had left the bar almost at a run, ashen-faced after a short conversation over his cell phone, and then this man had walked into the bar shortly after.  
  
Now, Duncan knew enough about people not to judge on first impression alone, but he was fully prepared to say that the man he was following had not been hired for his people skills, or his ability to blend into the crowd. Weighing in at close to 300 pounds of massive muscle, and almost six and a half feet tall, all decked out in black leather and with a scowl seemingly etched permanently onto his face, he seemed to have stepped right out of the Hells Angels bodybuilding club. In a hotel mainly frequented by mid level businessmen, he stood out like a wolf in a flock of sheep.  
  
Entering the elevator behind him, Duncan was hardly surprised to find that no one else seemed interested in sharing it with them.  
  
****  
  
Before they returned to Earth and the monster that'd spawned him, his father had told him all that he knew about Angelus, and that had included the Hellmouth in Sunnydale. It was the place where Angelus had been unable to maintain his charade, had revealed himself as the monster he truly were. And now he'd returned there, along with two of the fools who claimed him as a friend. And Connor would be there to slay him if an opportunity presented itself. If it didn't, he just might take the chance anyway.  
  
Remembering what Holz had told him about the Hellmouth, Connor knew the place was filled with all sorts of demons and ghouls, vampires among the least of them. He knew the power of the Hellmouth attracted them like flies to a rotting corpse, whispering sweet promises of death and destruction as it filled them with power, made them stronger than anywhere else on earth. What he hadn't expected was feeling it himself.  
  
Slouching in his seat at the back of the bus as it approached Sunnydale, Connor abruptly sat up as he felt the air around him changing, almost visibly turning darker, tainted with the power he could feel emanating from up ahead. He could feel it reaching for him, surrounding him, filling him. It felt like coming home.  
  
Authors note: I have now arranged for notification for those interested to be informed when I update. I started a group over at Yahoo, and I will post new chapters as special notices there. The address can be found on my author's page. Please feel free to visit and join up. 


	18. Chapter Sixteen: Deception and betrayal

Chapter Sixteen  
  
Deception and betrayal  
  
Following the departure of Angel and friends, the Scoobies, currently consisting of Buffy, Xander, Willow and Dawn, had gathered in Buffy's living room, eagerly awaiting the explanation Buffy had promised earlier.  
  
"Ok Buffy. Now that Deadboy have left town, again, along with his friends, could you perhaps let the rest of us know the identity of your mysterious informer? You know, the one who recognized Mr. Eau'd Entrails but refused to come forward and talk about it?"  
  
Buffy sighed as Xander's words reached her. She'd been courting disaster the last two days, and having Angel leave town should have made it all better, yet now she had to explain things to her friends, and preferably do it without lying.any more than she absolutely had to.  
  
"Well, you see. It's really simple, actually. It was Spike. And you guys know how he hates Angel, so I figured it would be best if he didn't know that Angel was back in town. Best way I could see to keep them from smashing into each other and us having to sweep up one of them afterwards." Sounded much better than: 'Because Spike is still angry with me for breaking up with him, and he just might have told Angel all the dirty details of our relationship if they'd met.'  
  
"And you believed him when he said that he didn't remember where he'd seen him? This is Spike we're talking about. The vampire, remember? This Samuel guy sounds like just the kind of person Spike would hang out with. He could have been hiding out in his crypt, and Spike would have denied it. Remember the eggs? You can't trust demons, Buffy!"  
  
"No, he wouldn't do that," Dawn's grateful smile at her sister's unexpected defense of Spike faded as she went on: "after I bombed his crypt it's barely inhabitable for a vampire, and Samuel is human, remember? No way would he hide there, even if he didn't worry about Spike snacking on him."  
  
"Ok, no hiding murderer in his crypt. But that doesn't mean that he was telling the truth when he claimed not to remember where he'd seen him, does it? For all we know, Spike could have been training him after Angelus killed his friends. And that would make him even more responsible for what he's done than Angel is."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "No, I don't believe that. Spike didn't play well with humans before he got the chip, remember? 'Happy meals on legs' was all we were to him back then. Training a potential murderer seems more like something Angelus would have done, Spike's always preferred the direct approach. So, yes, I believe that he doesn't remember where he saw him."  
  
"Ok, maybe he's telling the truth about that. But then what are we going to do about Samuel? If Spike is telling the truth, and Angel is right about him, there is a human serial killer on the loose, and he's from Sunnydale. What are we going to do about it?"  
  
"The only thing we can do, Xander. We stay alert, kick his ass if we ever find him, and deliver him to the authorities."  
  
****  
  
Exiting the elevator, Duncan started following his guide down the corridor when a quiet voice from behind stopped him.  
  
"Duncan MacLeod? I'm Michael. We're going up a bit further. Please enter this elevator."  
  
Duncan winced. He'd been alert ever since walking into the other Immortal's range, but he'd assumed his guide would lead him to Michael, and had failed to notice his presence behind him. Quickly suppressing the wince, he turned and entered the elevator Michael was standing in. The man he'd been following continued down the corridor as the two Immortals continued upwards.  
  
Taking the time in the elevator to assess Michael, Duncan found himself pleasantly surprised. Despite Amanda's description of him, his career in theft and his habit of running away from Challenges had led Duncan to expect a shifty looking weakling, yet he could find no trace of cowardice in the brown eyes firmly meeting his own. And while not as heavily built as Duncan, the way his loose fitting clothes hung reminded Duncan of the wiry strength of Methos, concealed and restrained until needed. Yet, no sword. Not even an Immortal could manage to conceal a sword of any length under the short jacket Michael was wearing.  
  
"I see Amanda was telling the truth when she claimed you weren't playing the Game. Mind if I ask why?"  
  
Michael shrugged. "I don't mind, if you could answer me this: what is the Prize?"  
  
"I don't know. No one does. Enough power to rule the world, at least that is what most of us believe."  
  
"Is that what you believe it is? Are you fighting for a chance to rule the world?"  
  
Duncan frowned. "No, I'm not."  
  
"I know. You hope for the Prize to be mortality, the chance to live out your live as a normal man, having a wife and children, don't you?"  
  
"Amanda told you that?"  
  
"No. I deduced that from you having never let go of your mortal life. Being Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod for almost four hundred years now. Am I wrong?"  
  
By now they had reached the desired floor, and was walking down the corridor towards Michael's room.  
  
"No, you're not. But I could be wrong, and I can't take the chance that some evil Immortal gets the power to rule the world, now can I?"  
  
Michael shrugged. "Your decision, I guess. Me, I don't want mortality, and the power to rule the world, what need do I have for it? I'm Immortal, the world isn't. Fact is, I can't imagine a Prize grand enough to make participating in the Game worthwhile. After all, the stake of the Game is eternity."  
  
****  
  
Michael had given a considerable amount of thought to what to tell Duncan when they finally met. He had briefly considered making up the description of 'the slayer', but had decided against that when he considered that Duncan was actually working with the Watchers; and so would be giving them the description he received. It would not have looked good for Michael if the Immortal he described didn't exist. He had then considered describing the headhunter he had killed in Chicago, James Felder. Unfortunately the Watchers would by now have realized that 'the slayer' had killed James, and that was a coincidence he could do without.  
  
In the end, he really had no choice but to describe a real Immortal. This Immortal would have to be known to the Watchers, a headhunter of unknown age, and too hard to track for them to have a Watcher on him. And it would have to be someone Michael wouldn't mind seeing found and decapitated. As luck would have it, he knew just whom to send Duncan and Amanda chasing after. And if there were any justice, they would even find the bastard. Not that he gave much for their chances. The slippery little weasel had managed to stay hidden from Michael for well over two hundred years, after all.  
  
He had first met Lord Richard Fenworth in 1786 in England while hunting a couple of English officers from the American war of independence. While Michael hadn't actively participated in that war he had been on the American continent ever since he signed on with Cortez in 1518. He had greatly enjoyed the following years of fighting and bloodshed, until 1521. Standing in the newly conquered Tenochtitlán he'd watched as the Spaniards, their clothes still stained with the blood of the natives, prostrated themselves before a statue of the Blessed Virgin as they thanked their god for allowing them to end the idolatry and human sacrifice of the heathens, and he'd realized that his disgust of Christianity was turning into an abject hatred of humanity. He left Cortez the same day, taking a break from soldiering and assassinations, mostly just returning to his roots and enjoying the thrill of exploration. But the war of independence had drawn him in, tempting and enticing, and so he'd hung around on the edges, and had observed the two 'gentlemen' slaughter dozens of civilians. He'd gotten angry again, but this time with a clear focus for it. Unwilling to see them walk away without punishment, he had hunted them across the Atlantic. And in so doing, he had found satisfaction, and maybe even redemption.  
  
Having been employed numerous times as an assassin and bounty hunter, it hadn't been the first time he hunted people, but he had been away from the European societies for over 250 years, and had found it difficult to get close enough to his victims. He had attempted to solve the problem by spending more money on the identity he'd been using at the time, making himself a member of England's upper society, but he'd been too hasty and careless, leaving tracks apparent to other Immortals. Tracks that appeared from thin air, and headed in the direction of the two returned heroes. And while Fenworth might have many flaws, stupidity hadn't been one of them.  
  
The lord of a minor estate, Fenworth had access to the social circuits the officers traveled in, and, having suffered his First Death a mere year before, he had approached Michael with a few suggestions.  
  
Most of which Michael had agreed to. In return for his help in getting close to his targets, Michael would train Fenworth for a year. And with Fenworth's help, the assassinations had gone off easily, if unsatisfactory. It had only been as he struck the final blow that he had realized that in making their deaths quick and painless he had allowed them to escape from the punishment they so richly deserved.  
  
Pondering the unexpected conclusion to the hunt, he'd been somewhat distracted, and since he knew the younger Immortal didn't carry a sword either, he hadn't reacted appropriately when he moved up behind him, only to discover that lacking a sword didn't stop Fenworth from slipping a knife into his back. Waking up in a shallow grave, Michael had later learned that the beheading had been prevented by servants whom, having discovered the bodies of his victims, had raised the alarm, making Fenworth claim having killed the assassin, and have Michael buried, presumably planning to get the head later. Luckily, Michael didn't stay dead anywhere near as long as the younger Immortal had expected, and had been well out of the grave when he came for the head. Not having any weapons, Michael had made a strategic withdrawal, running for his life.  
  
He had desired immediate retribution, but instead of beheading a Lord and drawing undue attention to other Immortals and their duels, he'd instead chosen to wait until the younger Immortal had to leave the life of Richard Fenworth behind. And so he had stayed in the area, taking care to never get close enough to be discovered, patiently waiting. Until, almost seven years later, Richard Fenworth died in a hunting accident, and vanished without a trace. Michael had been astonished. The death and disappearance had been planned perfectly, with far more skill and forethought than he'd ever have attributed to such a young Immortal, and despite his best efforts, he'd never been able to hunt him down since. He had even penetrated the Watchers once with the singular goal of discovering his location, only to find that they had no solid info on him beyond a rough description and speculations on his age ranging as far back as 700 years.  
  
And so he fed Duncan a nice little tale of how the mad and evil Immortal had Challenged him in Chicago, handed him a sketch he'd made, and sent the Highlander on his way with his blessings and best wishes on the hunt. Unfortunately for Michael, however, he'd turned his back to Duncan to return to his seat after handing him the sketch, and so had entirely failed to notice Duncan's brief expression of shocked recognition, although he did find his sudden eagerness to get on with the chase somewhat puzzling.  
  
****  
  
Returning to the suite he shared with Amanda, Duncan spared no time asking the questions that had plagued him ever since Michael had handed over the sketch of the man he claimed had Challenged him in Chicago.  
  
"He's your friend, right?"  
  
Puzzled, Amanda nodded. "You know that, I distinctly remember telling you."  
  
"And he's not playing the Game, and have no interest in the Prize?"  
  
Nodding again, Amanda frowned. "Yes to both. I told you that, so why are you asking?"  
  
Duncan handed her the sketch.  
  
"Because your good friend wants me to kill Methos."  
  
Author's note: Latest chapter here. Please review to let me know if you like/dislike it. Also, I have finally gotten myself a beta-reader. Many thanks to Muerte for proofreading, constructive criticism and good (and some not so good) ideas. And the address to join the update group is still available on my author page. 


	19. Chapter Seventeen: Beloved enemy

Chapter Seventeen  
  
Beloved enemy  
  
After driving Joe home, Methos returned to his apartment in a contemplative mood. While he was close to certain that Samuel wouldn't hurt Amanda and Duncan so long as they didn't realise he was the true target of their hunt, he had still failed to figure out why Samuel tortured and killed mortals who weren't Watchers.  
  
He had briefly entertained the notion that perhaps Samuel had mistaken them for Watchers, but it didn't match his usual methods for dealing with Watchers, partly in the excessive torture they'd suffered, but mainly in that he hadn't disappeared immediately afterwards. No, those killings had been meticulously planned out and executed, and he hoped to high heaven that the reasons wouldn't invalidate his analysis of Samuel's personality.  
  
Booting up his computer, he logged on to the Watcher database using Joe's username and password, and set out to use the hours before his flight left to study the murders of two people whose only apparent crime had been being acquaintances or even friends with a monster, only to discover that all references to one of the victims had been completely erased from the database. There were still two victims listed, but the earliest of them had been in 1925, and Methos distinctly remembered reading of a victim in 1888. As for the other two victims, the Watchers had been interested in them only because their deaths had been at the hands of an Immortal, and so they had never bothered to gather much information on them. And what little they had gathered seemed to have been further diminished by Samuel's subsequent infiltrations into the Watchers archives, and that further focused Methos' interest. If Samuel had bothered to delete information about his victims, then there had to be something of interest there. Logging off the Watcher database, he brought up his favourite search-engines, and sent them browsing across the Internet.  
  
****  
  
"I don't get it. I've just told you that Samuel wants me to kill Methos, and you don't find it a bit suspicious?"  
  
"Not at all, Duncan. I should have realised something like this could happen, but I guess I just didn't think Samuel hated anyone enough to use the opportunity."  
  
"Opportunity!? What are you talking about? There is no opportunity here, just your friend trying to get me to kill Methos!"  
  
"Really, Duncan. You have a brain, try using it, and look at the situation from his point of view. Now tell me, what has the slayer done to Samuel?"  
  
"Huh? What does that have to do with this?"  
  
"Just humour me, darling. What has the slayer ever done to Samuel?"  
  
"Well, Challenged him, basically driven him on the run from Chicago to Los Angeles, probably cost him a lot of money. Anything I missed?  
  
"Nothing major. But remember, Samuel doesn't play the Game. He is used to running from Challenges, and I've never heard him complain about it. So as far as he is concerned, there is nothing unusual about this, until you come along."  
  
"Me? And just what is it I have done, apart from trying to hunt down the Immortal who's trying to kill him?"  
  
"That's just it, Duncan. The slayer isn't trying to kill him. He ran from Chicago to Los Angeles, there is no way that he considers the slayer a danger any longer. And then you come along, the best swordsman among us, and you're hunting an Immortal whom you have no idea what he looks like. So what shall he do, send you after the Immortal who just did what so many other Immortals have done, or should he send you after the one who did whatever it is Methos did to him?"  
  
"And what is it Methos did to him?"  
  
"I'm not a mind reader, darling. I have no idea what it was. But it must have been something bad, if Samuel is willing to send you after him instead of the slayer. Best guess, it is something that happened years ago. Probably just a misunderstanding, but bad enough that Samuel still holds a grudge years after."  
  
"And why do you think it happened years ago, and not something recent?"  
  
"Really, Duncan. Look at the drawing, will you? Have you ever seen Methos with a moustache? And that hairstyle is just ancient. No, Samuel haven't seen Methos in years."  
  
Duncan picked up the drawing and looked at it, pacing the room as he pondered what Amanda'd just said.  
  
"Yes, I see what you mean. It's Methos, all right, but not Adam Pierson. Some older identity of his, you think?"  
  
"Isn't that what I just said?"  
  
"Ok, so Methos somehow managed to piss Samuel off bad enough that he is willing to let the slayer walk free if it means Methos loses his head. Just great. Now what am I supposed to do?"  
  
"Well, you could ask the old man what it was. I mean, you do know him, after all."  
  
Duncan sighed, shaking his head as he sank down in one of the chairs.  
  
"I can just see it. 'Hi Methos. What did you do to Samuel that was bad enough that he is willing to let a monster like the slayer walk in order to make you lose your head?' I don't really see him being too pleased with that line of questioning."  
  
"You might want to rephrase that somewhat, but yes. I do think that is what we have to do. And then we have to get Samuel to forgive Methos for whatever it was. Unless you can see some other way in which to get him to tell us what the slayer really looks like?"  
  
"We could let him know that we're onto his little plot, and that there is no way it'll work?"  
  
"And that will make him all happy and eager to tell on the slayer?"  
  
"Probably not. I guess it is back to Seacouver, then. Because I really don't want to discuss past misdeeds with Methos over the phone."  
  
Walking over to the phone to order tickets back to Seacouver, Duncan smiled wryly at Amanda.  
  
"You know, I actually thought this would be easy. Just pop over to Chicago, find the slayer and kill him. And now I'm travelling back and forth across the continent, hunting for leads and possibly alienating Methos. And I suspect getting Samuel to forgive Methos won't be easy. I know I had a hard time with it, and he'd not even done anything to me."  
  
"True, but Samuel is far more easygoing than you are, and since I doubt that Methos Challenged him, we'll probably just have to resolve a misunderstanding, and then be on our way after the slayer again."  
  
****  
  
Having derailed Duncan's hunt for the slayer, Michael had checked out of the hotel and headed for the biker's bar where he'd picked up his decoy, using the time driving to make up his mind on whether or not to kill the man, and thereby erasing a potential danger. Unfortunately Michael was currently not equipped to properly dispose of a corpse, and since Duncan might learn of the discovery of said corpse, killing the man might cause a large problem. Fortunately the man knew less about Michael than Duncan did, so letting him live would probably not be dangerous, even if the Watchers should bother to look for him.  
  
Not having any idea how close he'd been to an early end, the big man gratefully accepted the remaining payment, silently wondering just what he'd been part of. Not that he was going to ask. Ten thousand dollars counted for a lot of questions not asked. And there was still an opportunity to make more money on this deal, after all.  
  
Finally being able to consider the business with Amanda and Duncan finished, Michael drove to his new home, planning to get in a few hours sleep before checking on when to expect his supplies to arrive. Arriving at home, he picked up the mail, at first intending to read it in the morning, changing his mind as he spotted the large envelope from Wolfram & Hart. The contents caused him to spend the remainder of the night on the phone.  
  
****  
  
It was just after breakfast, and Amanda were getting the last of the suitcases ready when Duncan informed her that they would not travel to Seacouver after all.  
  
"And may I ask why not, and why was I not informed of that before I started packing?"  
  
"I called Joe to let him know how things were going, and he told me Methos is on his way here. Said the old man got curious about how a young Immortal like Samuel could manage to run from the Game, and wants to meet him."  
  
Amanda cocked an eyebrow at him. "Really now. That is rather interesting, don't you think?"  
  
"Yes. It does seem to support your theory. I just wonder if he's coming to make up for whatever it was, or if he's going to try and remove the problem a bit more permanently."  
  
"Well, if he's planning on taking Samuel's head, he'll have to take mine first! There is no way I'm going to let Methos kill one of my friends just because he thinks he might be a danger to him!"  
  
"Relax, Amanda. No one is taking any heads here. We'll pick up Methos at the airport tonight, find out why Samuel wants him dead, and then see what we can do about it, ok?"  
  
Amanda reluctantly nodded. "Ok, but Methos doesn't get anywhere near Samuel before we know what went on between them, and I want his word that he is not going to take his head."  
  
****  
  
"Angel Investigations, we help the helpless."  
  
"Is there a reward for info about the guy on the posters?"  
  
Cordelia frowned at the directness of the caller, wondering what to say. Angel did seem very eager to find that Samuel person, and with Connor all grown up, it wasn't like they were going to need all the money Angel had gathered to raise him.  
  
"Yes, there is a reward. The exact amount depends on what you have to tell us, and whether or not it helps us apprehend him."  
  
"Good. I'll be there in an hour, and you'd better have the money ready, 'cause I'm not telling anything until I see the greens, understand?"  
  
Cordelia's frown deepened into a scowl as the caller abruptly hung up on her.  
  
"Angel, a very rude person is going to come visiting us. He is expecting money in return for information about 'the guy on the posters', which I can only assume means that he knows something about Samuel, and is willing to tell us."  
  
"Rude? And I don't remember offering a reward for finding Samuel, so how come he is expecting money for whatever it is he knows?"  
  
"He hung up without saying goodbye or anything. And that is just plain rude. As for why he is expecting money, I don't know, but he asked if there was a reward, and since you want to find Samuel and we have all that money you collected to raise Connor, I figured I'd say yes rather than not learning what it is he's got to tell us."  
  
At the mention of his estranged son Angel's face got more expressionless than usual, and he merely nodded at Cordelia, before turning to walk into his office.  
  
"Yes, it's not like I need all that money anymore, is it?" he muttered to himself.  
  
****  
  
"Hello Wesley. We need to talk. Can I come in?"  
  
Wesley silently stepped aside, allowing Lilah to step inside his apartment.  
  
Closing the door behind her, he thought he felt a flash of emotion as he smelled her perfume, but the ever-present despair rolled in, and he was left wondering what it had been, disgust or desire? Both, probably, or he wouldn't have taken her to bed all these times.  
  
"Talk, is it? A bit early to offer me a position at Wolfram & Hart, so probably something about Angel, I guess. Is he making trouble for you again?"  
  
"No. A former client of Wolfram & Hart is hunting Angel with the intent of torturing him to death for the crimes he committed as Angelus, and since we have big plans for him, we'd rather not see that happening."  
  
"Yes, of course you don't. So, why would a former client want to punish Angelus, and why should I do anything to prevent it?"  
  
Lilah pouted at Wesley. "You mean you won't do it merely because I ask you to? Of course you won't. After all, you're not thinking of me even when you're pumping in and out of me, so why should you behave like a gentleman now. I know, how about I tell you that the person hunting Angelus won't hesitate to kill any and all persons getting between him and his target, including that cute little Texan girl I believe you're thinking of while pumping in and out of me?" The last was said with a smile, but Wesley thought for a second he could hear pain in the words. He grimly squelched the compassion. It was merely wishful thinking, after all.  
  
"They've dealt with your killers before, so what makes you think this former client of yours will be any different?"  
  
"Maybe because they've never before been targeted by a 3000 year old immortal serial-killer with a long and bloody career as a mercenary and assassin behind him?"  
  
"No, I don't think that's ever happened before. Doesn't really sound like someone you'd allow to leave the firm, though. How did that happen?"  
  
"He was never in the firm, he was a client. That is, we handled his finances and various legal affairs, helped with making identities and such. Nothing major." Lilah frowned. "Until I made a small mistake, and sent the wrong courier to him, which would be why he is no longer a client."  
  
"He didn't like the message he got? What, you were planning to empty out his bank-accounts, or something?"  
  
"No, he got the correct message, just the wrong courier. I was.distracted after a meeting, and so instead of sending a regular courier with the message, I sent an express courier. The client received the message while sitting in an airplane that had taken off a few hours earlier, and for some reason that and the subsequent disappearance of the courier led him to believe that Wolfram & Hart is not just another slightly corrupt law firm."  
  
"That doesn't sound like much of a reason for a demon to end the relationship with you. What else is there?"  
  
"He's not a demon, and he didn't end it. We did. The senior partners have expressly forbidden us from having any kind of supernatural contact with his kind, and since he now knows that Wolfram & Hart have supernatural connections, we had no choice but to terminate our relationship with him."  
  
Wesley blinked, then frowned as he tried to make sense of what his lo.no, not lover, was telling him. "He's a 3000 year old immortal, but not a demon, and a law firm specialising in the occult and run by a bunch of demons won't have any kind of supernatural business with 'his kind'? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"  
  
"Of course I do. Doesn't change anything, though. For reasons of their own, the senior partners have placed firm restrictions on our dealings with Immortals, and that severely limits my options here. I managed to lose the firm a very profitable client, and while I can ride out that problem, I'll be in well over my head if he then goes on to kill Angel."  
  
"Yes, that probably wouldn't look good on your resume, I imagine. So how am I supposed to prevent this ancient immortal non-demon from killing Angel?"  
  
Lilah gave Wesley a pleasant smile at his agreement to help her. "Actually, that's the easy part. You merely have to convince Samuel that Angel is in no way responsible for the actions of Angelus. If you can do that, Angel will no longer be interesting prey, and he'll leave them alone."  
  
"And what is the hard part?"  
  
"That would be stopping Angel from going after a 3000 year old immortal serial-killing mercenary assassin."  
  
Author's note: Well, let me start by apologising for the delay since last chapter, I'll blame life and leave it at that to keep you from getting all depressed and sending sympathetic mail to me. What you can do is, as usual, to review. I love positive feedback, and don't have any problems with negative reviews, so long as they are constructive.  
  
On another note, my beta Muerte, and his lovely wife, just saw the birth of their firstborn son, and as such he have other things on his mind than reading this little tale. Therefore this chapter is not fully beta'd, but he swore the parts he had read were good. Please don't prove him wrong, ok? 


	20. Chapter Eighteen: Pricey info and stolen...

Chapter Eighteen  
  
Pricey info and stolen cars  
  
It was later. The ambulance had come and gone, and Fred had swept up most of the broken glass while Gunn had focused on getting rid of the remaining pieces of Angel's office door. Angel was sitting on the coach in the lobby while Cordelia picked pieces of glass out of his face. The general consensus among the group was that maybe Angel had been a bit too confrontational.  
  
"Ok, so maybe Jake shouldn't have asked for quite that much, but we could afford it. It's not like five thousand would break our backs, or anything. Which he almost did to me, I might add."  
  
"Sorry Gunn, but he kept on pushing for more, and I just thought I'd flash my fangs at him, put some fear in him and make him easier to deal with."  
  
"Easier to deal with!? It's going to cost us almost as much to fix this mess, not to mention the hospital bill we've got coming. Did you really have to break both his legs? And just what was it they were saying about his shoulder?"  
  
"That was an accident. And the shoulder wouldn't have happened if he hadn't tried to stake me with the splinters from the door."  
  
"Which he wouldn't have had if you hadn't thrown him through it in the first place."  
  
"He was trying to tear my head off! What was I supposed to do, ask him nicely to stop it?"  
  
"It is not possible for a normal human to actually tear a head off with their bare hands, no matter how strong they might be, so there were never any possibility of him actually managing to kill you that way, Angel."  
  
"It didn't feel like it, Fred. And while he might not have been able to actually do it, that sure didn't keep him from trying. Besides, while he might not have been able to kill me that way, he could have broken my neck and paralysed me. And it did hurt."  
  
"Poor baby. And it never occurred to you that maybe a nearly 7 foot tall leather wearing biker with scars all over his knuckles might not be all that willing to back down for anything?" Cordelia didn't sound particularly comforting as she picked the last piece of glass out of Angel's cheek.  
  
"I thought it was just an act, you know. I mean, come on guys. The guy was a walking cliché. It should have been easy to scare him. And he did tell us what he knew in the end."  
  
"Yeah. He mumbled it while you had him in a choke hold on the floor. And you were sitting on his broken legs, I might add."  
  
"How was I supposed to know they were broken? I'm not a paramedic, you know."  
  
"Well, the paramedics have taken him away, and can I just ask why there are no police around? I could have sworn I heard him yell something about pressing charges."  
  
Angel somehow, possibly due to years of practice, managed to avoid looking sheepish as he answered Cordelia's question. "That would be because I offered him twenty thousand dollars not to do that. Plus the five thousand for the information and promising to pay the hospital bill."  
  
****  
  
Having received notice that Wolfram & Hart were terminating all connections between them and Michael, he'd spent the remainder of the night first in an effort to find out why they no longer wanted his business, and then having to arrange for his affairs to be handled by other firms. The latter was handled rather easily, as he'd long since made it a point to never be entirely dependent on a single firm. The former, though, he found hard to understand, and the people at Wolfram & Hart seemed unwilling to give him a straight answer, beyond stressing that he'd NEVER again be welcome as a client of their firm.  
  
Finally hanging up in frustration, he tried to think things through. He'd used W&H as his main lawyers for almost fifty years now, and had never had reason to complain before. In fact, their reluctance to ask questions he'd rather not answer, and their sometimes creative ways of solving problems, had been most useful to him. Then, the good-will gesture that he'd not appreciated, and now they'd terminated their relationship. He could only assume that somehow he'd not reacted as they'd expected him to, and rather than risk trouble, they were pushing him away. So, what should he do about it?  
  
Sinking back into the chair, he closed weary eyes as he tried to focus, and decided to get the rest he needed before he made a decision. Stifling a yawn he got out of the chair and headed for the bedroom, only to decide to indulge himself a bit. After all, there were no-one around, and the security-systems of the mansion would ensure he stayed undisturbed. Shedding his clothes as he walked into the bathroom, he entered the hot tub with a sigh of pleasure. Closing his eyes, he slowly slid to the bottom of the tub as sleep claimed him.  
  
****  
  
Finally having cleaned up the remaining damage to the Hyperion, the gang had begun making use of the information their not entirely willing, but very well paid, informer had given them. Mostly, the use had consisted of Fred hacking her way into a series of computers, and she was now ready to report her findings.  
  
"I started by hacking into the computers of the hotel Samuel used, and got the name of the person registered at the room in which he waited for the person he met at the elevator, Duncan McCloud, whom I've found no trace of anywhere, so either he used a false name or Jake didn't hear it right. I've tried a few variations of the last name, but got too many possibilities for it to do any good. Besides, I'm leaning towards it being a false name, seeing as Samuel used at least two false identities himself at the hotel."  
  
"Two false identities? Wouldn't one be enough?"  
  
"Not for what he had planned, no. See, what he did was making sure there were no-one following Duncan, and to do that he played a little shell-game. First he hired a room using one identity, and waited there for Duncan to arrive. He then sent Jake to bring him there from the bar, only to intercept them at the elevator. Jake's job was then to wait in the room until the elevator appeared again, and then make sure he was seen leaving it, while the real meeting took place in the room Samuel had hired using another identity."  
  
"So whoever followed Duncan would see Jake come out, and assume the meeting were taking place there. Got it. But how does that help us?"  
  
"Well, when I checked into the background of Chris Jordan, the man who'd hired the first room, I quickly noticed that he's not real. There were too many databases I couldn't find him in. But he did pay using a credit card, and that gave me a peek at how much he's got available. Despite being a non- existing person, he's worth at least ten thousand dollars."  
  
"A nice amount, but not staggering. Enough to make the identity self- sufficient for a short time, but not enough to live on. Sounds like a sacrificial identity to me, possibly intended for short time use only."  
  
"That's what I thought as well, Angel. He expected someone to follow Duncan, and he was willing to surrender the identity to draw them away. I don't think he'll ever use it again."  
  
"You said he used two id's at the hotel. Have you had any luck at finding the other?"  
  
"Actually, I think so, yes. Jake said he introduced himself as Michael when he met Duncan, and there were only one Michael, a Michael Madsen, registered at the hotel at that time. And he checked out just after the time Jake said the meeting happened."  
  
"But this is also a false id, right? So how does that help us?"  
  
"Because this is a very solid id, Angel. I couldn't find anything wrong with it. It exists everywhere it should, it even has an IRS record with taxes paid on time every year. But check this out, two weeks ago it was worth ten thousand dollars. Two days after he ran into Angel, he was worth a million. Money just kept flowing into his account from all over the place."  
  
"Any chance of finding out where it came from?"  
  
"None. I tried, but the trail went through so many blinds and unnamed accounts, I couldn't get anywhere."  
  
"But he got rich two days after meeting me. Lilah hinted that he would be hostile to me. Could it be that he transferred the money to be used against me in some way?"  
  
"It is possible. On the other hand, if the credit records are to be believed, Michael Madsen left for London the day after he got the money, so it could be he just needed some extra cash."  
  
"London? What did he do there?"  
  
"Nothing. He spent no money at all, so I guess he must have used yet another identity while he was there, but there's simply no way for me to find out more about it."  
  
"Ok. When did he get back, then?"  
  
"He used the Michael Madsen identity on the return flight, he got back to O'Hare in Chicago two days ago, then probably used another identity again, because the next time Michael Madsen used money was to rent the hotel room and a car here in L.A."  
  
"He rented a car? Has he returned it yet?"  
  
"Maybe, but then it would have to have been within the last half hour, and he's paid for a week."  
  
"Great! Then we just need to find the car, and we find Samuel."  
  
"But how do we do that? He could be anywhere in the city, or even out of it by now."  
  
"Oh, I think I know someone who can help us."  
  
Angel smiled broadly at his friends as he walked over to the phone and, after checking the printouts from Fred's search, placed a call.  
  
"Hello, this is Michael Madsen. I'm calling about the car I hired from you. It's been stolen...."  
  
****  
  
Author's note: New chapter here, hope you enjoy. Sorry about the delay, but in my defence I can say that it's been in the hands of my beta for a month now, awaiting his response. Reviews are, as always, deeply appreciated. 


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